Soft Targets, Big Booms
by FrogtownStamper
Summary: Third in the "Moving On" series, following "London Calling". Sadik Fahd wants revenge for Paraguay and London is his target.
1. Chapter 1

Standard Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, I'm just taking them out to play. Not profiting from their usage, other than that of my own personal enjoyment. Hopefully, you all enjoy it as well.

This story is the third story in the "Moving On" Series, following "London Calling". It is highly encouraged that you read those stories first, just so you know what occurred that got us here. They also introduce several OCs that will be featured within this story. As well, note that the timeline has jumped forward for this story.

And now, on with the story.

July 1, 2005

Rabb Family Farm – Belleville, Pennsylvania

0753 Eastern

Harm rolled out of bed at the sound of the baby crying, rubbing his eyes as he looked over at Beth. She was sound asleep but that would only last a moment or two before she too would awaken. Still, this feeding was all on him, since she had handled the previous one. Standing, he walked over to where the portable crib was and lifted his son out. Taking a sniff, he instantly knew that a diaper change was in order as well.

Getting a blanket, he laid it on the bed along with a fresh diaper and container of wipes. Then, he removed the soiled one and cleaned up his son before putting a new diaper on him. That accomplished, Harm dressed the infant before sitting him back in the crib for a brief moment. This was so that Harm could get dressed as well before going down to the kitchen with his son.

Entering the kitchen, he was not surprised to find his grandmother at work at the stove. Even in her eighties, she still rose with the dawn and was now fixing breakfast for her guests. Harm saw that she also had a bottle heating for her great-grandson. Hearing them come in, she turned and smiled.

"Good morning, Harmon. And good morning to you, too, Jack," Grandma Sarah said, as she held out her hands for the baby, John Francis Rabb.

In the months leading up to his birth, a name had been one of the most hotly contested things between Harm and Beth. She had wanted to continue the tradition and name the boy Harmon. He had been adamant in opposing the idea, remembering how he'd gotten picked on in school for having a "weird" name and didn't want his son to go through that. He'd suggested a few other names before inspiration struck and he'd said John Francis. Beth had looked at him strangely at that, until Harm had told her that he thought it would be nice to name their son after their fathers, or in his case stepfather.

When the baby was born, Trish and Frank had flown to London to be with them, staying through Thanksgiving to help out with the baby. Frank had been completely taken by little Jack and was often found sitting in an easy chair with the infant napping on his chest. He had been rendered speechless when he'd been told the little boy's name and tears had come to his eyes. Seeing this, Harm had put an arm around his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"I just wanted you to know, even if I was absolutely lousy at showing it, I appreciate everything you did for me, Dad," Harm had told him.

"Thanks, Harm," was all Frank was able to say, yet the smile on his face said plenty more.

Trish and Beth had both watched this interplay and smiled, for very different reasons. Trish had long been torn by the once hostile nature of her son's relationship with the man she'd married after Harm Senior had been shot down. So, to her, it was a relief to see this new closeness. As for Beth, she could now see why Harm had decided to name their son after their fathers, not until then fully understanding the rift that must have existed between Harm and Frank in the past and the measure of togetherness this simple act had brought.

The trip to the farm was the first chance, however, for Grandma Sarah to meet the baby. Harm had thought about coming before this, but had wanted Jack to be a little older and hopefully better able to travel. Add to that the holiday weekend and this just seemed like a good time to make the trip over. Now, as he watched his grandmother holding little Jack, he was as happy as he had ever been.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced that Mattie was on her way down. The sixteen year old was the only one who could make that much noise, Harm thought with a smile. As she came into the kitchen, following her nose, she smiled at the family.

"'Morning, Dad. Grandma. Hi Jack, how's my little brother today," Mattie said as she approached Grandma Sarah and the infant. Leaning in, she kissed the top of his head while she hugged Sarah.

"Good morning, Mattie," Sarah said with a smile, as the teen took over at the stove, turning the eggs expertly. She also attended to the hash browns as well, which gave Sarah extra time with her great-grandson.

Harm just stood back and watched, think about how blessed he was by his family. Then Jack began to cry a little again, reminding Harm that the baby was still hungry. But before he could move, Sarah had already gotten the bottle off the stove and was carrying it to the table. Sitting down, she expertly got the child settled before carefully testing the temperature of the milk. Finding it to be good, she presented the bottle to the infant, who latched onto the nipple and got to work.

While she handled the feeding, Harm and Mattie finished up the breakfast and got everything onto the table. The smell of the food and coffee brought Beth down, looking bleary eyed and about ready to go back to sleep. Still, she settled down at the table and dug in, though she didn't get the cup of coffee she wanted. Harm saw to that, as well as making sure Mattie didn't as well. Instead, Beth got a large glass of milk while Mattie had apple juice. Harm did have a cup of coffee, which earned him a harsh glare and pout from Beth.

"One cup of coffee isn't going to kill me, Harm," Beth said.

"I'm just following the doctor's advice. While you're still giving Jack breast milk, no caffeine. So, no coffee, no soda, nothing with caffeine," Harm replied, reasonably.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. Because you want Jack to be healthy, which means you need to be healthy and eat smart."

"I still hate you," Beth said. "You could at least not drink that in front of me, like you're rubbing my nose in the fact I can't have any."

"Alright, I'm sorry," Harm said, as he drained the cup quickly and then put it aside, switching to a glass of apple juice. "Satisfied?"

"Not after watching you drain an entire cup, not hardly."

"Tell you what, why don't you finish your breakfast and rest a little while. Then, we'll see if we can't do something to snap you out of this bad mood."

Beth growled in anger as she pushed back from the table and stormed out of the kitchen. Harm moved to follow her, only to be stopped by Grandma Sarah. She just quietly shook her head and gave him a very disappointed look.

"Let her be, dear. She'll be back when she's cooled off a little," Sarah said. "And if you don't go up there and push any further."

"Honestly, I wasn't trying to push," Harm said.

"Oh, now I can see why you were single for so long. Harmon, you knew that Beth can't have coffee and yet you took a cup? That's downright inconsiderate. Then you ask if she's satisfied after you practically inhale the damned thing in front of her? I thought I taught you better than that."

With that, Sarah turned from her grandson and talked to Mattie, leaving Harm to reflect on his poor decisions. After a little, he got up from the table and walked outside. The warm morning sun felt good, as did the sight of the open meadow in front of the farmhouse. In his mind, as he stood there, he could remember other occasions when he'd looked over that same meadow. This place held a certain magic for him, the connection it provided not just to his father but the whole long line of Rabbs that had called the farm their home.

The sound of a car coming up the drive disturbed his thoughts and he turned to face it. A smile grew on his face, however, when he saw who was in the car. Walking down the steps, he reached the bottom just as the car stopped. Both doors opened and Thomas Boone and Beth O'Neil got out, stretching.

"Good morning, Sir," Harm said as he approached Boone, his hand outstretched.

"Harm," Boone said, shaking the hand as well as handing over a set of keys.

"What's Beth doing here?"

"I failed my flight physical. So, she's the one who flew 'Sarah' up."

Harm looked at Boone at that comment. The man looked like he always had, perhaps a little thinner, but the same old Boone.

"What happened?" Harm asked.

"The doctors tell me I have Parkinson's disease. No, don't say anything like you're sorry. I know you mean well, but…." Boone stopped, not know how to express what he was thinking as well as not wishing to talk about something he regarded as private.

"When did you find out?"

"Last month. The doctors started doing testing around the New Year, after I had some trouble with my hand shaking. I'd be sitting at home and my hand would just start shaking. So, I went to the doctor and he sent me to a different one who ran a ton of tests and then gave me the bad news."

"So, Beth's the one who flew today?" Harm asked.

"Only until we were away from the airport, then I let the boss have a little fun," Beth said with a smile. In the last eighteen months, she and Boone had become, if not friends, then respected colleagues. Once she proved worthy, he had become accepting of her and her girlfriend, even having the two women over for cookouts. She reflected that, except for some other kindnesses performed by other friends, this might well have been the last time Tom Boone flew a plane. She could see that he realized it too, from the slight slump of his shoulders.

"Well, why don't you both come inside and have something to eat?"

"That's fine, Harm. Our flight back to Washington doesn't leave State College until 2:30," Tom said as he climbed the steps.

Going inside, they followed Harm into the kitchen, where Mattie and Sarah still sat with Jack. Seeing the visitors, Sarah handed Jack off to Mattie and stood.

"It's good to see you again, Tom," Sarah said.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Still the same old ramrod, I see. And who's your friend?"

"Actually, Grandma, this is Beth O'Neil. She works for Mattie at Grace Aviation," Harm said. "She's also a friend of mine."

Sarah looked O'Neil over and liked what she saw. She also approved of the way the woman held her gaze, not backing down.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Ms. O'Neil. Though I am curious as to what brings the pair of you all the way to Belleville?" Sarah asked.

"When Harm told me he was coming to visit, he asked if I could have his Stearman delivered to Mifflin for him. Said he wanted to do some flying while he was here. I said sure, we could do that and he never asked what I meant by we, so here 'we' are," Boone said.

"You mean 'Sarah' is here?" Mattie asked, excitement etching her features. She'd been bitten by the bug after her first flight with Harm, when he'd let her take the controls. She wanted to experience those feelings again.

"Sure is, Mattie," O'Neil said.

"Can we go flying, Dad?"

"Yeah, Dad, can we?" Beth said from behind them, before wrapping her arms around Harm from behind.

"I suppose we can, later. For now, I think we should let Beth and the Admiral get some breakfast and then we need to talk about the company," Harm said, looking at Boone as he said that.

Eagle Nest Lake – Taos County, New Mexico

0608 Mountain/ 0808 Eastern

Victor slipped quietly from the sleeping bag he was sharing with Emily, then made his way out of the tent and stood looking at the lake. The view from here never got old, as he looked out across the lake. He could also see, out of the corner of his eye, the tent that housed his sister Maria. She was serving as their "guide", even though Victor had spent almost as much time at the lake as she had. He could remember his mother's look of amusement when the two of them had argued about Maria tagging along on this trip.

It was Emily who had finally settled things when she had taken Maria's side. Not wanting to fight the pair of them, Victor had given in. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd be sharing the tent with them, Emily had told him later, though that had been his sister's intention. Victor had laughed when he had seen her only pack one large tent in the back of the SUV and he'd quickly grabbed a second one, asking if she had been forgetting something.

Going to the small cook stove they'd brought out with them, he started a pot of coffee going. They were going back home tonight, after a quick two days on the lake. His family was having a barbeque tonight, an early celebration of the Fourth of July holiday. This week had been the third time he'd brought Emily home to visit his family, but the first time he'd managed to bring her out here. The first time, the family had mobbed them and there had simply been no time. The second was in January and between the cold and snow, going to the lake then wouldn't have shown it in all of its beauty. Now, however, the weather was warm and sunny and the view a mixture of tans and greens reflecting off the blue waters of the lake itself.

The coffee finally ready, he poured himself a mug and carried it down to the lake. Here, he found a fallen tree to sit on and took a sip of the coffee. As he savored the warm flavor, his mind took stock. His family had embraced Emily like a new found daughter and that was especially true of Maria. The two of them had formed an almost instant friendship, one that Emily had never had with her own brothers or sisters. They were much alike, two strong, independent women who recognized in each other a kindred spirit.

As for his mother, she was practically counting the days until the two of them married. She had been a little disappointed when they had told her that they planned to stay in London, but the reasons behind the decision had reduced that. Also, the visits had helped, with the pair making a genuine effort to come over as often as they could afford. One way they had done that was by Victor getting rid of his car, driving Emily's whenever he needed to. Living and working in London, that was an altogether rare occurrence. The money they'd gotten from selling the car had funded their flights over.

Hearing a footstep behind him, Victor turned slightly and smiled. Emily had gotten herself a mug of coffee as well before coming to join him. Moving over slightly, he patted the log next to him.

"Good morning, darling," Emily said as she sat down.

"It is now," Victor said, putting an arm around her shoulder and drawing her nearer.

"This is beautiful."

"Yes, it is. This is why I wanted you to see it now, not in the winter."

"Oh, I think it would look lovely in the winter, too," Emily said. "It's the hills and the lake and the sense of almost limitless space."

"To me, it's the trout in the lake and watching the ripples as they come up to go after the flies. That and memories of our family out here, Dad teaching me and Maria to fish right over there," Victor said as he pointed to a spot just down the way. "Mom and my sisters making camp, cleaning the fish that we caught for dinner that night."

Emily watched him as he spoke, seeing a distance in his eyes that reflected the depth of the memories. This was a special place for him, she saw, and she wondered if they would have a special place of their own. Somewhere to take their own family, though they would also show them this place as well.

"Are you two just going to sit there all day?" Maria called from the campsite, a grin on her face as they almost fell over trying to turn and face her.

"We were certainly thinking about it," Emily said. "That is, until a certain person disturbed us."

"Hey, we're wasting daylight and I just know Victor and I can pull a few fish out of the lake before it is time to drive home."

"Why? We're having barbeque tonight, remember?" Victor asked. "Valerie, Carmelita, and Rosa will all be there. So will Rosa's husband Roberto and their two boys, as well as Aunt Dorothea and Uncle Carlos and heaven knows who else."

"Well, I think Mama will stop at greater Taos, but most of Valdez might show up" Maria said with a smile. She had remembered that the extended family was coming, since this was the most they'd seen Victor in years. Then there was Emily, who they all wanted to come to know better. Maria thought it was a shame that Victor and his fiancée couldn't just come home to New Mexico. Uncle Carlos had some land ready for them, if they ever decided to return. Twenty acres or so, with a view of the mountains in the distance. Perfect for building a family home.

Compound – near Peshawar, Pakistan

2138 Local/ 1538 Greenwich/ 1038 Eastern

A man sat at a small desk, situated in a windowless room in the interior of the building. A fan gently beat the air, providing a small measure of cooling. Not that the man minded the heat, but more for the sake of the computer sitting on the floor next to the desk. Right now, he was making a final review of the operation he was about to unleash. More than a year's planning had gone into this, he wanted to leave nothing to chance. Still, he doubted he'd get the returns that his mentor had gotten with the attack launched in 2001, but he wasn't looking for that. Rather, he wanted to strike a new fear in the hearts of the West, attacking them in their very streets.

Reviewing the data, he saw that the cells were ready. Unfortunately, the optional target he had hoped to strike was gone. From what his people had been able to discover, he was somewhere in America. Now, he had to make a choice: either stick with the current timeline or put the attacks on hold again until that last piece was in place. Sadik leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Oh, how he had wanted to teach the arrogant Americans a very personal lesson, but no. Not at the cost of potentially compromising the mission, that had to come first. With that thought, he sent the message on to the first link in the chain. A chain meant to bring the war closer to home for a people content to watch his brothers die.

Mifflin County Airport – Reedsville, Pennsylvania

1228 Eastern

When Harm pulled the SUV into the airport's parking lot, he could easily see 'Sarah' on the ramp. In fact, it would have been impossible to miss her, given the small crowd that was surrounding the yellow bi-plane. Getting out, he waited for Mattie and Beth to join him. Grandma Sarah had decided to stay back at the farm, claiming that she had chores to do. Harm hadn't been fooled for an instant, especially when she had said she'd watch Jack in the very next breath.

Beth had been slightly quiet on the drive over, clearly still brooding about their argument. Mattie had taken her cue from this and also remained subdued, until they got to the airport. The sight of the plane had been more than enough to perk her straight back to normal teen. She moved ahead of her parents, going over to the plane.

"Beth, I'm sorry if I upset you this morning," Harm said quietly.

"It just felt a little like you were rubbing my nose in the fact that I can't have any coffee right now," Beth replied.

"And I don't know what it is, but when you get like that, I can't help but tweak your tail just a little."

"I know. But, seriously, how long before I can have just one cup of coffee?"

"You'd need to talk to Doctor Clark about that, sweetheart. If she gives you the OK, then that's fine. But she said no caffeine and I guarantee you're not looking for decaf," Harm said with a grin.

"How did we ever survive without coffee in the mornings, tell me that?" Beth asked with a frown.

"Well, there are other ways to get our blood flowing."

Beth glared at Harm, who wasn't fazed at all by the look, as was evidenced by the wide grin and leering look he gave her.

"Damn it, Harm. I just had one child and you're already wanting to get started on number two."

"Hey, we're not getting any younger, you know," Harm said before realizing he'd just shoved his entire leg in his mouth with that comment.

"Thanks a lot, Mister! And, just so you know, I'm still younger than you are, at least physically. Mentally, sometimes I think you're 40 and other times it's more like 4," Beth said as she stalked off to the plane.

Reaching 'Sarah', Beth saw that most of the crowd had disbursed. Mattie was doing an inspection of the plane's engine and nodding her approval. The company still had her mother's name on the door, so she wanted to make sure the workmanship was still of a quality her mom would have approved of. As she looked the bi-plane over, she saw that it was.

"She looks good, Mattie," Beth said, putting a hand on the teen's shoulder.

"Has Dad ever taken you up in her, Mom?" Mattie asked. Somewhere in the last eighteen month, at a point neither of them would be able to pinpoint if asked, Beth had gone from Beth to Mom with Mattie. Maybe it was the day Beth had taken the teen along for her ultrasound, followed by an ice cream excursion or the weekend they'd spent alone while Harm had gone to Germany along with Admiral Kieso for a conference with the other US European Commands. But it had happened and Beth was delighted in it.

"No, he hasn't," Beth said as she looked at the cockpits.

"Then you should go first. I've already been up in her."

"When was that?"

"Just after the judge gave Dad emergency guardianship of me. He came down to Blacksburg that weekend and asked how I wanted to celebrate. I asked if I could drive his Corvette, which he still hasn't let me do, by the way. Then I asked if he'd take me flying," Mattie said.

"How was it?" Beth asked.

"It was incredible. I'd never been in an open cockpit before and the sounds, smells and feelings were beyond description. Then he let me take the controls and I was flying."

Beth could see the memory still excited the teen, as her daughter was practically bouncing on her toes.

"Maybe I'll let you do that again," Harm said as he joined them.

"Please, Dad, please," Mattie begged.

"Maybe, after I take Beth up."

With that, Harm began a through walk-around of the plane, checking everything down to the air pressure in the tires. While the two women had been talking, Harm had taken care of filing a flight plan as well as handling the airport fees for the weekend. On Monday, he'd fly the plane down to Blacksburg and then have either Boone or O'Neil give him a lift into Falls Church, while Beth and the rest of the family drove down to join him.

Sturgis had moved out of their house last December, so he wanted to check on things there. He hadn't rented it out after that, instead hiring a company to handle maintenance and another for security. As far as he was concerned, this was their family home and he wanted to know whoever was going to be living there. The last thing he wanted was to come back from Europe and find the house wrecked by a tenant.

It certainly wasn't as if they needed the money that renting the house out would bring. After breakfast, Admiral Boone had sat down with him and Mattie to go over the company. The good news was that the charter business had taken off even better than they had hoped for. The profits from last year had been over 3 million from that alone, with a steady customer base and more demand than they could currently fill. Boone had talked about wanting to look for a second jet, so they could better meet that demand. Also, they were getting more requests for the crop dusting services, which meant they were in a position to pick which ones they wanted to serve.

This was important because of the bad news, which was they were seeing an increase in past due accounts. The farmers were making less money from their crops, which meant less cash to pay their bills with and some of those bills belong to Grace Aviation. Mr. Peabody had actually needed to take one farmer into court over the matter and their attorney doubted this would be the last.

"Should we scale back the crop dusting services, Tom? Maybe sell the older dusters and use that money to get another executive jet?" Mattie had asked.

"It's a thought. Crop dusting is a decent business, but we made ten times the money with that jet than we did from all of the dusters last year. The profits were 5 to 1 in favor of the jet. Listen, I think we keep the dusters and carry on. But if it becomes a choice between investing in another G-III or a duster, we put the money in another jet," Boone told her.

"Figure out what we'd be looking at if we sell those older planes. How much revenue versus operational expenses. Then, get an idea as to what we would get if we sold them. Last, add that to what we have in the bank and see if we could afford another jet."

"I've already done that. Cost-benefit analysis for the dusters versus another G-III, using the current one as a template. Talked to three different used plane companies and have a baseline as to what we can expect to recover from a sale. Also, Beth had a line on another good condition G-III. Now, with the funds in the bank and selling the older planes, we'd be about three million short of their asking price."

Harm remembered those words, as well as the commitment he'd made to Beth about not putting any more money into Grace Aviation. Since not keeping that promise wasn't something he even remotely considered acceptable, that meant either they put off the decision for another year or they looked for an outside source of funding. He wasn't thrilled at the thought of taking out a loan, but that might be what they would have to do.

Forcing his attention back to the present, he helped Beth climb into the front cockpit and get strapped in. Then, he got into the rear cockpit and once he was ready, engaged the starter on the engine. After a moment's hesitation, the power plant caught and settled down to its usual rumble. Calling the tower, Harm got his clearance to taxi and take-off. Looking over, he saw that Mattie was well out of the way, joined by a few of the previous onlookers. Cracking the throttle, he got 'Sarah' moving, taxiing with the usual Stearman weave.

On the runway, Harm stood on the brakes and put the throttle to the wall, listening to the engine's sound. He also checked the gauges and when he was satisfied, he released the brakes and rumbled down the runway. At just about 60 knots, he felt the trainer want to fly, but he held it there for a moment longer. Only then did he lift her off the runway and hunt for the sky.

Harm had been here many times before, so he knew the area. Turning and pointing the nose towards Belleville, he gained a little altitude. It was only a few moments before he spotted the familiar farmhouse. Grandma Sarah was outside, tending her flowerbeds that fronted the structure, Jack in a playpen on the porch where she could see him. Hearing the noise, she looked up and smiled as she saw the plane level off about 150 feet above the meadow. Standing up, she waved as they flew past before Harm pulled the nose up and climbed away.

Looking back at the porch, she wasn't surprised to see Jack's head up. He wouldn't have been Harm's son if the sound of an airplane didn't make him look, Sarah thought with a smile.

Galindez Home – outside Valdez, New Mexico

1948 Mountain/ 2148 Eastern

Victor stood near the fence line of the large backyard, looking across the yard towards the house. After dinner, the family had separated, with the women going inside and dragging Emily along with them. The men had stayed outside, grabbing drinks for a large cooler his mother had left on the patio. Victor's Uncle Carlos had walked him over to the fence, an arm around his shoulders.

"Your friend is a nice woman, Victor. So, how did she get mixed up with a Marine?" Carlos asked, a nasty grin on his face.

"Because she was smart enough to know a real man when she saw one, not one of those ice cream salesmen you sailors are," Victor said, laughing as his Uncle pulled a hurt expression.

"Hey, if it wasn't for us sailors, you jarheads would never get anywhere."

"Well, I guess somebody has to do the simple jobs, like drive the boat."

"Oh, God, are you two still at it after all these years," Ramon Galindez said, coming over. He was Carlos' older brother and just a few years younger than Victor's father would have been. Carlos was the baby of that generation and closer in age to Victor than to his own brothers.

"If we weren't, you and Mama would think there was something wrong," Victor said.

"True. Still, Carlito was right about one thing. Emily is one heck of a woman."

"Hey, enough with the Carlito crap, Ramon!" Carlos said.

"Sorry, but you'll always be Carlito," Ramon said. "What are your plans, Victor?"

"We fly back to London on Tuesday. Albuquerque to Newark, Newark to London. I report back for duty on Thursday, so we'll have a day to get our body clocks back on London time."

"That's good, but not exactly what I meant. You and Emily going to come back home when you retire?"

"No, we're not. Maybe once Emily retires, but she's got a great career in London and I want her to see how far she can go there," Victor said.

"Surely your friends on the Sheriff's department could get her in there," Ramon said.

"They could, probably, but she'd still be starting all over again, at 30."

"Speaking of 30, isn't that a little young for an old man like you?" Carlos said, a grin on his face that caused the three men to laugh. The women inside the house heard the laugh and briefly looked outside just to confirm that's what it was before turning back to Emily.

"It's so sad that you and Victor have to wait to get married," Valerie said.

"Well, like I said to your mother the first time we spoke, anything worth having is worth waiting for. And you brother is definitely someone worth waiting for," Emily said with a smile.

"Oh, Victor is, is he?" Carmelita asked, raising her eyebrows and drawing a blush from Emily. This caused a knowing laugh to pass between the women.

"He's constantly surprising me with little romantic gestures. Like before we came here, I asked if he was excited to be going home. You know what he told me? That he was already home, that I was his home."

"Alright, what have you done with my brother and who is that man out there?" Maria asked. She'd been trying for years to find someone for her brother. Every time he'd been back, she'd fix him up on dates with her friends and acquaintances. One of the women had told her that Victor was the most unromantic man she'd ever been out with. So to hear that he'd said something like that to this woman drove her eyebrows almost off her head.

"Oh, Maria, can't you see it? It's as plain as the nose on your face," Mrs. Galindez said. "Your father was just like that, too. Until he met me, that is. That's being in love, daughter."

"What about you, Emily? What romantic things do you do for my brother?" Valerie asked, leaning forward.

"We're teaching each other to cook, so that we can spend more time together. And I'll leave him notes on the bathroom mirror in my lipstick, little things like 'I love you' inside a heart."

"Have you two made any headway with your family?" Mrs. Galindez asked.

"No. The only member of my family we even see anymore is my Grandfather," Emily said looking down at her hands. She and Victor had told his family about the way her family had reacted to them dating. On their very first visit, Mrs. Galindez had watched the couple together and before they had left, she had taken Emily outside for a brief walk. There, she'd told the young woman that she was happy her son had found someone who loved him as much as Emily did and that, no matter that they weren't married, Emily was as much as daughter to her as her own were. She'd had to hold the young woman for a time, as she cried at the words.

"Have you tried to heal the breech?" Maria asked.

"We've called, we've gone to the house, and we've even sent letters. Our calls get hung up on as soon as they hear our voices, the door isn't answered when we show up and all of the letters have been returned unopened. They're treating Grandfather the same way, because he sided with us and because he's effectively cut them out of his estate."

"I'm sorry to hear that it's still that bad. One would think that with time, they'd realize they are losing their daughter and want to make, if not peace, then civility."

"I think my mother is behind this, her and my brother James," Emily said. "Especially after my grandfather as much as threatened to get my mother fired from her job."

"What does your grandfather do," Mrs. Galindez. "I mean, that sounds like he's got a lot of power."

"He's retired from our Foreign Office. That's much like the US State Department. I know that he knows a lot of people and has a lot of contacts around the world, but he never likes to talk about his work even now. In fact, he's still called back in occasionally to consult on matters."

"Couldn't he use some of that influence to get you and Victor married?" Maria asked.

"He's trying, but the wheels of bureaucracy move slowly, he says. Still, he did manage somehow to get Victor's second eighteen month assignment to be at the Embassy in London, instead of somewhere else."

"Well, I'm sure you were happy about that."

"Ecstatic! Especially when you consider he could have been sent anywhere in western Europe and that could have meant a long-distance relationship," Emily said. "Not that I wouldn't have gone anywhere to see him, but I love the fact that we see each other every day."

The other women gave her a knowing grin, which caused Emily to blush again and set off a wave of laughter. The women were all still laughing when the men came inside and took up seats with them. Emily smiled happily at Victor, enjoying a feeling of closeness and family that she'd never gotten from her own. Mrs. Galindez watched as her son sat his fiancée on his lap and pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Silently, she said a little prayer of thanks.

July 2, 2005

A flat – Leeds, United Kingdom

0503 Greenwich / 0003 Eastern

A man sat at the kitchen table, slowly working away on the package spread out before him. He'd been up most of the night, thanking Allah that he didn't have to go to work today. He'd been shown how to do this, to get the maximum effect from the devices. Oh, he knew he would not achieve the results of the great martyrs, these were much too small when compared against passenger planes slamming into buildings. But still, he could accomplish his goal and perhaps shake these godless people out of the apathy towards the plight of his brothers and sisters.

As he worked, another member of his cell came into the room. He fixed a cup of coffee before going into the little living room and turning on the television. He kept the sound down, waiting to see the weather reports. The news that proceeded it was singularly depressing. Afghanistan effectively occupied by the United States, Iraq much the same. Oh, people were still fighting back and still killing the non-believers, but too many were also dying on their side as well.

"Have we gotten any word," the man in the living room asked.

"No, my brother. All we have been told is to get ready, and that the day was almost here. That is why I am working on these, so we will be fully ready."

Neither man needed to express their frustrations. They had received similar orders twice before, the first at about this time last year and the second at the beginning of December. Both times, they got following orders to stand down. The man at the table hoped they wouldn't get similar orders this time.

"Why didn't we just do it last year? Christmas certainly would have been an appropriate time and these people no longer believe in the prophet Jesus anyway. All they worship is money and material things," the younger man said as he moved back into the living room.

"Don't question the wisdom of Sadik, my young friend. He is right to be patient, because we only have one chance to do this right. Or do you wish to be caught before we reach our targets, where we do little to no damage and are quickly forgotten. No, if I am going to give my life, I want it to mean something," the older man said as he stood from the table, not wanting to raise his voice as he spoke with the younger one.

"You are right, of course."

"Don't fear, my brother. Our day will come."

A safe house – Karachi, Pakistan

1042 Local / 0542 Greenwich

A young man sat in a second floor bedroom, which had been converted into a computer center. Here, he was going through the messages that had come in overnight. He read none of them, beyond seeing who they were from and the code telling him who he was supposed to forward them to. After a few minutes, he came to the message from Sadik Fahd. Looking at the code, he copied the message over to a new E-mail and sent it along to the next link in the chain.

The next link was physical. The man who received the forwarded message in Riyadh printed the sheet out and folded it carefully. Then, he placed it in a plain white envelope. This went into the man's briefcase. The man was older now than he had been in the 1980s, when he had been one of many who had heard the call to jihad. He'd traveled to Pakistan and onward to Afghanistan, there to aid the mujahedeen in their fight against the Soviets. It was there that he'd met a younger Osama bin Laden. Since that time, he had provided financial and logistical support for the man and his network, even carrying the occasional messages.

Now, he checked and saw that he needed to meet with some people in New York and Washington next week. The perfect excuse for a trip, the man thought with a smile. Even better, he could make a stop in London on his way and drop off the message. What was the American expression? Oh, yes. He could kill two birds with one stone. A smile came to his face as he reflected that it would be more than just two birds with this particular stone.

Picking up the phone, he made two calls. One was to his travel agent, booking a flight to New York, routed through London. The second call was at arrange for the collection of the note while he was on his layover at Heathrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Rabb Farm – Belleville, Pennsylvania

1024 Eastern

Harm and Beth sat on the front porch, looking across the meadow. Yesterday had been enjoyable, especially when Harm had let Beth take the controls. As a RIO, she had been given some training in piloting a plane, but the Stearman was different from anything she'd flown before. It was responsive while also being very forgiving, as she'd found out when she had tried a loop. The plane had done exactly what she'd wanted, yet it had also given her more of a workout than she had expected.

When they'd been up for an hour or so, Harm had taken back control and returned them to the field. Once they had landed, he taxied over to have the plane refueled while Beth and Mattie had switched places. Then it was back up in the air, this time to give Mattie a little instruction. The teen was grinning from ear to ear when they had come back.

"Oh, that was so much fun, Dad," Mattie said, as she unstrapped.

"So, I guess that means you'll want to do that again" Harm said, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

"Dad!"

"What?"

"Of course I want to do that again. In fact, I want to take lessons so I can get a pilot's license," Mattie said.

"We'll see," was all Harm said.

"I'm sixteen, Dad. So, I can start working towards a license as long as you and Mom agree."

"And I said we'd see, Mattie. Just like we'll see about a driver's license, too."

"Dad!" Mattie said forcefully.

"Matilda Grace Rabb, watch your tone," Harm said as he unstrapped and got out of the plane. "I said we'd see. Your grades in school and the amount of focus studying for the certificate requires are considerations, too."

Mattie climbed down from the plane, a dejected look on her face as she approached Beth.

"Mattie, we know you want to fly and we want you to fly. But we also know that learning takes time and we don't want to have your school work this fall suffer while you're pursuing this," Beth said. She had heard all too well the last parts of the conversation, as she'd been approaching the plane to greet them.

"But, Mom. How will we know unless you and Dad let me try," Mattie said plaintively. "I know that I can do it and if not, then I'll stop and wait until next summer."

"Mattie, learning to fly isn't exactly something you can stop and start and stop and start. Trust me, it's dangerous and if you're going to do it, it's best to get it all done at once. That's why naval aviators like Harm are sent to training, where all they focus on is learning to fly."

"I know that it's dangerous, Beth, but I still want to do it."

"Well, let me talk to Harm a little and we'll see," was all Beth said, as she put an arm around Mattie's shoulder. The drive back to the farm was relatively quiet and after dinner, Mattie went straight upstairs and into her room. She hadn't come back down until this morning, when she'd eaten a mostly silent breakfast and then went out to explore the farm. Grandma Sarah had looked at Harm and Beth, then decided to stay out of whatever was the matter with the teen. It struck her as funny, however, how much like her grandson Mattie was. She wondered if either Beth or Harm saw that too.

"So, are you going to teach Mattie to fly, Harm?" Beth asked, as she rocked Jack in the porch swing.

"Et tu, Brutus," Harm said from his seat on the wicker chair. He could see the meadow, but his mind was a thousand miles away.

"Harm, you have to let her go at some point. She's a teen, sure, but she's also an independent young lady, too. So, we can either help her do this or we can dig our heels in and she'll just wait until she's eighteen and then head for the nearest flight school she can find."

Harm closed his eyes at that, knowing that Beth was one hundred percent right. Harm's problem was that he wasn't prepared to just trust anybody to teach Mattie. If she was going to be flying, he wanted it to be with someone he trusted. Another factor was the fact that they were all going back to London on Wednesday, so there just wasn't time on this trip to complete the training here. So, that meant finding a school near London to do the training and that meant a total stranger would be teaching her.

"To be honest, Beth, I don't know. I just don't want some guy teaching her, I want someone I trust," Harm said quietly.

"Why don't you teach her, then?" Beth asked.

"Because I'm not an FAA certified flight instructor and that's what she really needs, if she's serious about getting her certificate."

"And you don't know anybody who is a certified instructor?"

"No, I don't," Harm said. "And I'm not prepared to just look in the phone book and pick one."

"In that case, I guess it's time for the RIO to save the driver," Beth said as she got up and went inside, carrying Jack with her. She came back out a few minutes later with her cell phone, which she handed to Harm.

"Hello?"

"So, Beth says you need another favor," came Beth O'Neil's voice over the line. "Something about a certified flight instructor."

"Yeah, do you know any?" Harm asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I should, I got my FAA certification last year, so I could help with training the pilots on the new dusters. Boone taught me for the tailwheel and then I got certified for that and the G-III. Why?"

"Mattie wants to learn to fly."

"Ah, now I get it. Well, have no fear, Super Dad. I'll be happy to explain everything that you fighter pilots aren't taught, like straight and level flight," O'Neil said with a laugh.

"You bus drivers would know all about straight and level, seeing as that's all you do. No fancy maneuvers required," Harm teased her back.

"Only one problem, Harm. She's in London and I'm in Blacksburg."

"How long would you say it would take if she was there and didn't have anything else to do, like school and such?"

"If I was the instructor, I'd want at least 60 hours of flight time. About 15 hours of solo and night flying…."

"In what? Because 'Sarah' isn't exactly equipped for night operations," Harm said.

"In a 172, for the night flying. There's a guy here who has one, we have a little side deal. If I need to use it, I log it out and back in. In return, we handle the maintenance on the plane for him year round," O'Neil said.

"Sounds like a good deal for him. How often have you borrowed his 172?"

"A few times, so Debbie and I can get away for a day."

Harm smiled at the sound in Beth's voice as she said that and suspected that the reason for the 172 over the Stearman was the seating arrangement. Side-by-side was more conducive to hand holding, after all.

"So, say 4 hours a day, 5 days a week. A month, roughly," Harm said as worked it through.

"Probably a little more than that, just to be safe. Only one thing, though," O'Neil said.

"What's that?"

"It might be nice if you'd ask, first."

"Beth, would you be willing to teach Mattie to fly," Harm asked.

"As long as she understands it's my rules," O'Neil said. "She's here to learn to fly, not go out socializing and looking up old friends."

"Trust me, I'll make sure she understands."

Beth heard the tone in his voice and looked at him hard. O'Neil was relieved, however. She was also wondering what she had just let herself be talked into. She'd have to do some fiddling with the flight schedules. The good news was that she'd trained several other pilots on flying the G-III and they could take over for her. The bad news was, this would leave a gap in their dusting schedules that she would have to work around. Then there was Tom Boone, she'd have to talk with him about this, because he ran the company, even if Mattie owned it.

"Where's she going to stay?" O'Neil asked.

"Probably at her family's house. We still own that," Harm said, thinking about it. He wasn't exactly thrilled with Mattie being on her own, but she'd done that before

"I've got a better idea. Debbie and I have a spare room, Mattie can stay there if she'd like. Be simpler in the long run, too. I could even do some of the ground school stuff there, to speed things up."

"Are you sure you want a teenager loose in your house?"

"On second thought…." O'Neil said before breaking down and laughing. "I've only met Mattie a few times, but she's a nice young lady. Headstrong, sure, but nothing wrong with that. As long as she's comfortable with me and Debbie, then I'm good with her staying with us."

"Thanks, Beth," Harm said.

"So, when do you want to do this? Before her school year starts, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. So, she'll need to be back in London by the end of August, at the latest."

"So, a little under two months. I'll see what I can do, Harm," O'Neil said. "Bring her with you on Monday and we can start then."

"Done deal, Beth. Thanks," Harm said.

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep my boss happy."

Harm couldn't answer before a click sounded in his ear.

"One major crisis averted," Beth said as she calmly took the phone from Harm's hand.

"What would I do without you?" Harm asked with a chuckle.

"Well, be a good boy and you'll never have to find out."

"And what if I want to be a bad boy."

The hair on the back of Beth's neck stood up at that, as Harm approached her from behind and blew a gentle breath onto the nape of her neck. He then planted a kiss there, breathing in the smell of her. Beth almost dropped Jack as Harm then tailed the kisses along her collar and then to her ear. Only a soft cough broke them apart.

"If you all are planning to continue that, I would suggest at least taking it inside," Grandma Sarah said with a smile, as she saw the blushes rising on both pairs of cheeks.

"Yes, Ma'am," Harm said as he moved to usher Beth into the house.

"Not now," Beth hissed as she saw Mattie coming from across the meadow. "You have something more urgent to deal with."

"Awww, can't it wait?"

"No, it can't. Not if you expect to be sleeping in my bed this evening."

Harm laughed at that before squaring his shoulders and walking down the porch steps. He went out into the meadow and approached Mattie, who had stopped when she saw him coming.

"Walk with me, Boss," Harm said, using his name for her.

"Am I in some kind of trouble, or something?" Mattie asked, as he steered her towards the old barn.

"No, though I am a little hurt at your reaction yesterday and this morning."

"I'm sorry, Harm. I just want to learn to fly really badly and it feels like you don't want me to grow up."

"Mattie, I worry about you," Harm said. "Even when you're my age and married and stuff, I'll probably still worry about you. That's who I am."

"And I get that, or I try to. But I need to do things, experience things. I know sometimes I'll fail and make a mess and get hurt, but I have to try," Mattie said, a slight note of pleading in her voice.

"I know, Mattie. It's just a little hard for me, is all. Come here, I want to show you something."

Pushing through a gap between the two big doors, Harm led the way into the barn. The old building was empty now, save for a few odds and ends that time had forgotten. Over in one corner was an old workbench, littered with tools and a few large sheets of paper. This was what Harm led her over to. Even covered in dust, the papers were legible. Mattie sucked in a breath as she saw the outline of a plane, then realizing what plane it had to be, she looked at Harm.

"Yep, those were my dad's plans for 'Sarah'. I found them when I was up here after my ramp strike, still sitting on this table, along with these tools," Harm said as he gently ran his hand over the papers, disturbing the dust and cobwebs. "These plans and the tapes he'd left were my guides to rebuilding 'Sarah'."

Mattie could hear the sadness in Harm's voice as he spoke, the myriad of regrets his voice carried.

"I know the pain of losing a father to a plane, Mattie. I don't know if I could survive losing you or Beth to one, too."

Mattie hung her head, feeling a giant "NO" was coming her way. Harm saw this and rested his hand on her shoulder, not noticing it was the same hand he'd ran over the papers. A hand covered in dust.

"But I also know I'd lose you both in a different way if I stood between you and your dreams. So, I'm going to let you learn to fly on certain conditions, Mattie," Harm said.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Dad," Mattie said as she turned and hugged him.

"Power down, Boss. I said I'd let you learn under certain conditions. First, you and I are flying down to Blacksburg on Monday. I've talked with Beth O'Neil and she's graciously consented to teach you. Here's where the rules come in, so pay attention. You will be staying with Beth and her girlfriend Debbie. While you are, what they say goes, got it?"

"Sure, Dad."

"No, not 'Sure, Dad'. I want to hear a yes or no, understood?" Harm said, looking her hard in the eyes and keeping his gaze locked there.

"Yes, Dad, I understand," Mattie finally said.

"Good. That brings us to the next thing. You're only 16, so all you'll get this year is a Student Certificate. If everything goes well and I get good reports back from Beth, I'll work it out so you can keep up your hours when we get back to London. That way, when you turn 17, Beth just needs to give you a couple of hours supervised by her and then you can take the exam."

"Sounds fair, Dad."

"By good reports, I don't just mean flying, either. If you want to fly as a career, the military is the way to go. So, while you're staying with Beth, it might behoove you to ask questions. Get a different opinion than mine or your Mom's," Harm said.

"Will there be a quiz when I get back," Mattie asked with a smirk.

"Could be, Boss. Could be."

"I'll pass."

Harm could only shake his head at that, the cockiness in her voice. No, more like self-assurance. Then he remembered what he'd been doing when he was her age, well a year older. That summer in Laos with Colonel Striker, looking for American POWs in general and most specifically his father. He'd been just as determined as Mattie back then, striving to achieve a goal. He'd also managed to terrify his mother when she'd found out.

"I know you will," Harm said as he turned back to look at the workbench once again.

The Foreign Office – London, England

1632 Greenwich/ 1132 Eastern

Sir Alistair Wallace sat at the far end of the small conference table, invited to this meeting by the Foreign Secretary at the recommendation of the head of SIS. Also here were the various other heads of British Intelligence, as well as the Joint Intelligence Committee and the CIA's London resident. The urgency with which the meeting had been called, together with the group assembled, hinted at something big happening.

"Thank you all, I know it is a Saturday and I do apologize for disrupting any plans. However, I believe that once you're been briefed, you will agree that it is worth it," the Foreign Secretary said before sitting down.

"Ladies and gentleman, if you will open the folders before you, please," C said as he nodded to his right, where a younger man sat. This man stood and approached a lectern.

"The first photograph you have is of Sadik Fahd. Fahd is a senior member of Al-Qaeda and is reported to have the ear of bin Laden himself. He's one of the operational heads of the organization. About three years ago, the CIA learned that Fahd was putting together a rather large operation, part of which was the purchase of 100 Stinger missiles. I doubt I have to remark on the havoc such a supply could have done," the briefer said.

"Too bloody right, you don't," muttered a man to Sir Alistair's left. "We'd be facing a disaster, no one able to fly without the threat hanging over them."

"Fortunately, the plot was discovered in time for action to be taken. A joint CIA-U.S. Navy operation intercepted the missiles and destroyed them. Unfortunately, Fahd got away. A quiet manhunt was launched, looking for Fahd and in December, 2003, he was traced to a camp in Yemen. A team was sent in to capture or kill him. After the attack, it was believe that we had succeeded."

"Unfortunately, that belief was wrong," C said, standing to take the briefer's place. "The second photograph was taken in January, in Pakistan. It shows Fahd alive and well. The agent who took the photo disappeared and was found later, mutilated."

"A message, I dare say, that we were looking into things we weren't meant to," Alistair said.

"That was our interpretation as well, Sir Alistair."

"The CIA was given the information by me, at the request of the committee. Both countries have since coordinated a new hunt for the man."

"And have found nothing," the Foreign Secretary said. "All while losing three more agents."

"To me, that suggests several possibilities. That we're in the right area and need to continue. That we're not in an area where Fahd is, but perhaps fellow members of Al-Qaeda who know that Fahd needs to be protected, in which case we're wasting our resources there. Or it could be our so-called allies, the Pakistanis, are protecting a friend, perhaps for a fee or out of religious motivations or just because they don't particularly like us," Sir Alistair said.

"What?" The CIA's man asked.

"My dear fellow, don't sound so shocked. Not everybody in the world loves us. In fact, if they did, Al-Qaeda wouldn't exist. Over the centuries, we've often fallen victim to the law of unintended consequences. Take Al-Qaeda, for example. The organization is a direct consequence of the Soviet war in Afghanistan and the call for fighters that arose from it. That little conflict brought Osama bin Laden together with a whole host of other radical Islamists and who provided much of the arms for these men, the United States through the CIA."

"Hey, that was about stopping the Soviet Union's push toward the Middle East."

"I understand that," Sir Alistair said. "But Al-Qaeda is an unintended consequence of the decision to take a side in that conflict."

"Sir Alistair, you've got connections in the Middle East, have they been of any help?" the Foreign Secretary asked before the CIA man could speak again.

"Oh, yes. And I believe that what I passed on to C is the reason we are having this meeting."

Alistair closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips together, marshalling his thoughts and choosing his path very carefully. The multitude of contacts he'd made over the years had been of enormous help, yet he was reluctant to go too far. He would refuse to disclose how he knew what he knew, which often had been a source of contention with his younger colleagues. But that meant that his friends stayed safe and, most importantly, in a position to help again in the future.

"Last night, a source in Saudi Arabia contacted me. His information was that a known Al-Qaeda financer was flying to New York next week. He didn't know what day or what flight, but he would see if he could develop more information. What my source didn't know was that the man was known to me. His name is Abdullah bin Aziz, his father was Khalid bin Aziz and the family is a major player in the Saudi oil industry. His family also has ties to the bin Laden family, though how close the ties are is suspect."

"What isn't suspect is that Abdullah and his family have given tens of millions of pounds in assistance to Al-Qaeda," C said from the lectern. "We ran all the possible flights from Riyadh to New York and got a hit. Abdullah and two bodyguards are on a flight on Monday, with a change here at Heathrow."

"Why is he changing planes in London?" one of the committee members asked.

"That is the question. It's not the fastest choice, given the long layover in London. Besides which, he's flying commercial when his family has four G-V private jets," Sir Alistair said. "My belief is that he may be meeting someone at the airport. For what purpose, I can't say, but I doubt it's to simply say hello. Not when my second piece of information is added to the puzzle."

"What's that?" the CIA man said.

"A source I have in Al Jazeera said that the network is being mobilized for a big new release coming from Al-Qaeda. She had no clues as to what it might be, but the warning said it would shake the West like September 11 did."

"Mister Foreign Secretary, I strongly suggest we consider elevating our threat level," a member of the committee said.

"And tell the press what, exactly? Certainly nothing that we've discussed here. C, I need to know what Mr. bin Aziz does while he's here, who he sees, everything. If he or his bodyguards so much as break wind, I want to know. Sir Alistair, I thank you for what you've already done, but I need more, please," the Foreign Secretary said.

"Of course, Sir. I will see what I can do," Sir Alistair said.

"Everyone, thank you. I urge you stay close to home, as we may need to meet again, depending on breaking developments.

With that, the man left the conference room, followed by the other political members of the group. The CIA's resident came over to where Sir Alistair still sat, as did C.

"Now what," the CIA man asked.

"What do you mean, now what?" Sir Alistair asked, raising a white eyebrow as he slowly rose from his seat. The last year or so had worn on him immeasurably, his body like a shell of the man C had known for over thirty years. Yet, the mind was still as sharp as ever, as he had just demonstrated once again. "We do what we have to do. So, I suggest you get back over to your Embassy and contact Langley. C, get on to your opposite number in the Security Service and come up with a plan for our friend's arrival on Monday. Meanwhile, I'll go home and make some calls, shake a few trees and see if anything falls out."

"Of course, Sir Alistair," C said as he watched the old man leave the group and walk towards the exit. He was just turning back to face the American when he saw Sir Alistair seem to stumble and then fall. Both men raced over to find Sir Alistair face down. C gently turned him over and felt of a pulse, while the CIA agent ran to the door and called for help.

Galindez Residence – near Valdez, New Mexico

1207 Mountain/ 1907 Greenwich

Emily and Victor were sitting on the patio, having just finished up a late breakfast. Mrs. Galindez was away for the morning, having gone shopping with Valerie and Carmelita. This had left Victor the task of cooking, while Emily had sat at the kitchen table and watched. He'd settled on omelets with mushrooms, onions and ham, topped with cheddar cheese and sides of sausage. To drink, he had a glass of tomato juice, while Emily went with milk.

When they had finished eating, they had turned to the dishes that were waiting. Victor had insisted on do all of them, not just the few they had gotten dirty when they'd eaten. Emily was more than happy to help, since it made her feel like more of a part of the family rather than just a guest. Victor handled the washing while she did the drying. In little time the task was completed and the couple was able to relax.

Victor had suggested that they sit outside, even though it was hot out. Once on the patio, she understood the reason. The heat was there, but a nice breeze made it bearable for her. She could also see the gorgeous view that the patio offered.

"This is why I love sitting here, those hills in the distance," Victor said.

"What about neighbors," Emily wondered, not seeing a house from where she sat.

"Oh, Mr. Hernandez. His place is about half a mile that way."

Emily followed the pointing finger, but couldn't see a house from where she sat. So, she settled back in her chair to enjoy the peaceful surroundings An annoyed frown came to her face however, as no sooner was she comfortable than the telephone started to ring. Victor gave a little sigh as he got up and went into the house to get it.

"Galindez residence, First Sergeant Galindez speaking," he said, the habit so engrained that he didn't even think about it being his mother's phone.

"First Sergeant, this is Harrison Kershaw. Do you recognize my name?" came a voice over the telephone.

"Yes, Sir. You're …."

"Good, First Sergeant," the man said, cutting Victor off. "Now, listen to me very carefully. A G-V will be landing at Albuquerque International Sunport in about three hours, where it will collect you and Miss Wallace. From there, it will fly to Logan outside of Boston and refuel for the final leg into London's Heathrow."

"Excuse me, Sir, but what exactly is going on?" Victor asked.

"Miss Wallace's grandfather collapsed after a meeting this afternoon. He's currently in the hospital, in critical condition. The British government has requested that we assist in getting Miss Wallace back home, in the event that he were not to recover."

"So, why a private plane? You could have just as easily called and let us know what had occurred, leaving it to us to get back there."

"Perhaps, but Sir Alistair happens to have many friends with our government, First Sergeant. Those friends include me, as well as a number of other very influential people. Something as simple as this is just a way of showing that friendship," Harrison said. "For now, I suggest you tell your fiancée the news and get packed."

"Thank you," Victor said as he hung up. Turning, he found that he wouldn't need to tell Emily everything. She had followed him into the house or perhaps had come inside when he hadn't come back out. Now, she stood there with a questioning look on her face.

"That was about your grandfather, darling."

"What's happened, Victor?" Emily asked as she came to him.

"He collapsed. He's currently in the hospital, in critical condition. The man I spoke with didn't know anything more about his condition. We're to meet a plane in a couple of hours to get us back there," Victor hold her, opening his arms.

"Oh, Victor. Please tell me it's going to be alright."

Hugging her close to him, he let her tears soak into his shirt as he just held her. In the relatively short time that he had known her grandfather, he had come to like the man. The amount of steel in his backbone, the love that shone in his eyes when Emily was there, the acceptance of Victor despite the rest of the family's rejection. But more than that, he knew what the loss of her grandfather would do to Emily and he hope that wasn't to be, not anytime soon.

"Come, lassie, let's get packed," Victor said when she finally stopped crying.

"Oh, Victor, please don't. When you try to sound Scottish, it's like you're growling at me," Emily said with a smile, her somber mood somewhat lifted.

"Why's Victor growling at you?" Valerie said from behind them. Victor turned to find his mother and his two sisters were back from the shopping trip. He nodded to Emily, who headed for their room to begin packing.

"I'm sorry, Mama, but we're going to have to leave," Victor said, ignoring the question.

"What's happened?" Mrs. Galindez asked.

"Emily's grandfather collapsed today. Someone from our government just called to tell me and that a plane will be at the Sunport in about two hours to get us."

"He isn't…."

"No, he's in the hospital, in critical condition," Victor told them.

"Then, after we drop you off, I will stop at the church and light a candle for him," Mrs. Galindez said. "And I'll pray for you all, so that you find the strength to go through this."

"Thank you, Mama," Victor said, giving her a brief hug before going to join Emily. Entering the bedroom, he found the suitcases open on the bed but nothing in them yet. Instead, Emily was sitting on the end of the bed, gently rocking with her hands upon her knees. Victor decided to leave her be for the moment, instead focusing on packing the bags quickly. Only when that was done and he'd carried them out to the living room did he get down on his knees and take her hands in his.

"Emily, have faith. He'll make it," Victor said as he held her hands.

"I'm trying, Victor. It's just the not knowing."

"I'm sure if they learn something, they'll let us know. For now, we just need to concentrate on getting home."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **In response to a guest reviewer, who asked about the use of "C" for the head of SIS, versus the "M" made popular by James Bond. My use of "C" is not artistic license, but rather the true designation/title/code for the real head of the British Secret Intelligence Service. The history of this dates back to 1909, when a gentleman by the name of Captain Sir Mansfield Cumming was appointed head of the Foreign Section of the newly created Secret Service Bureau. This section later evolved into SIS. Captain Cumming was of the habit of signing letters, memos and such with just "C" and the letter stuck. As for "M", that was an invention of James Bond author Ian Fleming who, during the Second World War, served in Naval Intelligence and was often a liaison between his boss and other British Intelligence departments, including SIS.

Albuquerque International Sunport – Albuquerque, New Mexico

1423 Mountain/ 2123 Greenwich

Victor pulled the SUV through the general aviation gate after showing his military ID card to the guard on duty. The man had checked his clipboard and then called ahead before passing him through. As he approached the hangers and office that made up the FBO, he saw what was obviously their plane waiting for them. An eyebrow quirked upwards at the sight, the blue and white color scheme and words 'United States of America' readily identifying the plane as an Air Force VIP transport. If the call from the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence hadn't been enough, this certainly revealed that Emily's grandfather was much more than he'd portrayed himself to be.

Stopping a short distance from the plane, he and Emily got out as did his mother. She and Emily exchanged heartfelt hugs and kisses before Emily went to the plane. Then Mrs. Galindez turned to Victor.

"Take care of her, my son. She's hurting," Mrs. Galindez said.

"I know, Mama. I'm hurting too," Victor said.

"I love you both."

"I love you too, Mama."

With that, Victor hefted the suitcases and carried them over to the plane. He handed them inside to the flight attendant and went to find a seat next to Emily. However, there was a man already sitting there.

"Please, First Sergeant. Sit down so that we can go," the man said before turning back to Emily. "As I was saying, Miss. I'm Charles Cartwright and I'm with the United States Department of Homeland Security. I've been asked to help smooth your passage back to the United Kingdom."

"Asked by whom, Sir?" Victor asked.

"A number of people. Director Kershaw, the British Ambassador, the President. Miss Wallace has some friends in very high places, it seems."

"I don't understand," Emily said. "This plane, all the fuss. We could have found a flight."

"Well, I think there's more to your grandfather than the image he's presented all this time."

"I wouldn't know, First Sergeant. My instructions are to collect you both and get you to London by the most expeditious means available. That meant a G-V," the man said.

"Sorry for ruining your holiday weekend," Victor told the man.

"Heck, you're saving it. They pulled me and the plane off of the Secretary for Homeland Security for this job. I'll be back in Washington on Monday, while the rest of the team is still out in California."

With that, the man got up and retreated to the rear of the aircraft, giving Victor and Emily some privacy. Victor moved over to the seat next to Emily and sat down, taking one of her hands in his. Emily smiled slightly at him, but didn't say a word as her mind raced through a variety of thoughts. Chief amongst them was the feeling that they might get there too late, that she would have a chance to say her farewells, if that was what this ended up being.

Guy's Hospital – London, England

2318 Greenwich/ 1818 Eastern

The last of the visitors had left a few moments before, so that the only people left in the room were Sir Alistair, his driver Michael and a nurse. Sir Alistair had been agitated, to the point that he had to be given a mild sedative so he would rest. The stroke had come out of nowhere and his active mind couldn't or wouldn't accept what was happening, as his body refused to respond correctly to the commands he was giving it. His eyes darted around the room, searching, seeking something, yet he couldn't get them to focus.

Michael watched the old man, visibly saddened by this turn of events. He'd been with Sir Alistair for almost thirty years now, once part of a far larger team dedicated to protecting the head of the SIS. When Sir Alistair had retired, Michael had elected to stay with him as the man's sole guardian. Over that time, he'd come to view the man as a second father, in some respects even closer than his own father had been. Now he was faced with the one threat he couldn't defend his charge against, his own body.

The doctors had termed it an Ischemic Stroke and had begun treatment as soon as he had reached the hospital. They had expressed the belief that, with time and care, Sir Alistair would be back to close to his old self. A CT scan had failed to show any large-scale damage to his brain, nor had an MRI. Now it was a matter of waiting while the doctors treated him.

The sound of the door opening caused Michael's head to turn and a slight frown formed on his lips before he could adequately suppress it. Patrick and Catherine Wallace stood there, looking at the figure on the bed. Michael hadn't asked his boss about the rift between father and son, but he knew Sir Alistair had invited the entire family for Christmas last December and only his granddaughter had shown, along with her fiancé. In fact, he hadn't seen any member of the family since the Christmas before last other than Miss Emily. Still, it wasn't his place to say or do anything, so he stood and left the room.

"Oh, Father," Patrick said softly, as he sat down. "Why did you keep pushing yourself?"

"What was he doing, that was so important, anyway? That's what I want to know," Catherine said. "I mean, he's eighty-five, for God's sake. He should be in an old folks' home, not running loose."

"Don't make me laugh, Catherine. Can you honestly picture my father in any type of home?"

"Maybe not, but still. He clearly isn't capable of taking care of himself, if this is any indication."

Sir Alistair heard the pair of them arguing, but couldn't seem to focus on what they were saying. He knew it should be important to him, yet the words were too jumbled for him to make sense of. Then something clicked in his mind. What were they doing here in the first place? He closed his eyes and tried to think, but it was so hard. Like running in wet cement, everything seemed to take too long and then he'd lose his train of thought and wonder what he was thinking about. Rather than fight it, he relaxed and let his tired mind carry him back to sleep.

"Catherine, you said it yourself. He's eighty-five. Eventually his body is going to start to fail him, or do you think he's going to live forever?" Patrick asked, sarcasm in his voice. If his mother's death had taught him anything, it was that no one was immortal.

"Well, what about Michael? Isn't he supposed to be looking after your father?" Catherine demanded.

"Perhaps you might take your discussion elsewhere," the nurse finally said, finished checking her patient's vitals and tired of listening to the pair of them. "Besides, visiting hours are over for the evening."

"But he's my father…."

"That's as may be, but the hospital does have rules, Sir. You can visit him again tomorrow."

"Do you know who my husband is, Miss?"

"No, Ma'am. But unless he's either Sir Alistair's neurologist or the head nurse for the ICU, you'll both have to leave," the nurse said calmly. "Only those two people can override the rules, Ma'am."

"It's alright, Catherine," Patrick said as he headed for the door. "I'm sure if something changes, we'll be notified."

With that, the couple walked out into the hall. There, they found Michael sitting in a chair near the door, positioned in such a way that he could see both the unit's entrance as well as the doorway to Sir Alistair's room. He nodded silently to the couple, who completely ignored him as they proceeded to the exit. Michael gave a little grunt, part amusement and part disgust. Patrick was most definitely becoming an even bigger horse's rump than before and his wife was even worse. Then Michael pushed those stray thoughts aside as he concentrated on his duty.

July 3, 2005

Guy's Hospital – London, England

1027 Greenwich/ 0527 Eastern

Doctor Theodore Schulte stopped at the nurse's station for the ICU and collected the charter for Sir Alistair Wallace. Taking a moment, he looked over the various results and nodded his head. They all confirmed what he had initially suspected and were a welcome sign, as far as he was concerned. Carrying the chart with him, he walked down the hall to his patient's room and entered. Sir Alistair was awake and his eyes seemed to be focused as he looked over at him.

"Good morning, Sir Alistair. I'm Doctor Schulte, your neurologist. How are you feeling today?" the doctor asked, speaking slowly.

"No need to talk to me like I'm an imbecile, Doctor. My minds a little fuzzy around the edges and I seem to be having a little trouble with my left side, but I know who I am and basically where I am," Sir Alistair said.

"When you say trouble with your left side, what do you mean?"

"I can't seem to get my left leg to move. Just feels like its asleep or something. My arm is a little better than that, but not by much."

"And how about your vision? Any troubles there, blurry, seeing double?" the doctor asked.

"No, I can see you fine. Also, tell Michael to stop lurking outside the doorway and get in here," Sir Alistair said with a grin.

"Just doing my job, Sir Alistair," Michael said as he came into the room. "How did you know I was out there?"

"Where else would you be, given that you weren't in here with me? Besides, I saw your reflection on the glass of the door."

"Alright, we've established that your mind is still all there. Let's see your left hand, Sir Alistair."

Alistair tried to raise the desired object from the bed, but couldn't get it high enough to meet the doctor's. The doctor next ran a probe over his patient's left foot, receiving only a very faint response to that. Nodding his head, he made some notes on the chart he had brought down with him.

"My diagnosis, Sir Alistair, is that you did not have an actual stroke, but rather what we term a Transient Ischemic Attack. TIAs are warning signs of a potential stroke, which is why we're going to keep you here for a few days," Doctor Schulte said.

"Is that all really necessary, Doctor? Can't I just recover at home?" Sir Alistair said. "I'm in the middle of something rather important at the moment."

"That's as may be, but releasing you and then watching you drop dead of a major stroke isn't on my agenda for the month. So, unfortunately, you'll have to just humor me and do what I'm telling you. We need to run tests, so we can see what caused the attack. Also, we need to review your lifestyle and see if any changes need to be made."

"What about my work?"

"Absolutely not! Stress is a leading cause of strokes, so anything that might be stressful needs to be avoided," the doctor said emphatically.

"Doctor, do you have any idea of who you're talking to," Sir Alistair said quietly.

"Yes. I'm talking to the next client of the local funeral director if you don't take my orders seriously. I mean it, no stress of any kind. Or anything that is likely to raise your blood pressure, in fact."

"Very well, Doctor."

Doctor Schulte left the room, with a nagging suspicion that this patient was going to be difficult. Little could he know that Sir Alistair wasn't going to be ignoring his instructions, as Michael had heard them loud and clear and had sided with the medical professional over his boss. Someone else would just have to pick up the slack left by events. It was time for them to learn to manage without the old man anyways, he thought with a slight smile.

The door had been closed for a couple of moments before it opened again. Michael was prepared to shoo out any unwanted visitors, but he knew this one would be wanted. He stepped outside after Victor and Emily came into the room. Victor took a position near the foot of the bed while Emily went and gave her grandfather a hug.

"Not that I'm not delighted to see you both, but I thought you were in America," Sir Alistair said.

"We flew back overnight, Grandfather. On a plane sent by a Mister Kershaw," Emily said. "Who is he?"

"Harrison is an old friend of mine, who happens to be in a position of some importance in the American government."

Victor quirked an eyebrow up at that, thankful that Emily's back was to him. Sir Alistair saw it however and fixed him with a steady gaze, almost daring him to speak up. Instead, Victor decided to keep his peace at the moment. Clearly, the man had never told his granddaughter about his career and the name Harrison Kershaw seemed to mean nothing to her.

"Have they said what happened, Grandfather?"

"The doctor was just here. He said I had what he called a Transient Ischemic Attack, a sort of stroke, I guess. They want me to stay here for a few days, while they try to find out what caused it and treat it," Sir Alistair said.

"You had me so worried when Victor told me you had collapsed," Emily said. "Where were you when it happened?"

"I was just finishing up a meeting."

"I might have known. More work. Seriously, it's time for you to really retire."

"The work I do is too important, Emily," Sir Alistair said.

"It's not more important than your health, Grandfather. I don't want to lose you," Emily said, tears forming in her eyes.

"Hush, lassie. I'm a Scot and you know it will take more than this to do me in."

"No, it won't," Victor said. "I understand that your work is important, Sir. But I have to agree with Emily, not at the sake of your health. Keep pushing yourself and the next time might well be the last time."

Sir Alistair just looked at Victor quietly, not wanting to grant the younger man's point. Still, in his heart he knew it was true. All the Scottish bluster in the world couldn't change the fact that time was catching up with him and in that race, time always won in the end. Yet, he also had a terrible premonition that something was about to happen and that now was not a time for him to be taking a holiday from his duties, no matter how needed it was.

Grove End Road – London, England

1341 Greenwich/ 0841 Eastern

A man on a motorcycle drove slowly past the house, careful not to be seen as paying too much attention to it specifically. For all the world, he looked like a man searching for an address. What he was actually doing was checking to see if his target had returned home from where he was. As he looked down the drive, he could see the trash cans still where they had been when he'd walked past two days before, right in front of the garage door. No papers littered the drive, nor hung from the gate, but that meant little. If his target was away, it was only natural that he would have had his post and such held for him.

As he reached the end of the street, he turned right and drove a couple of blocks over before making another right turn and heading back into the heart of London. Finding a pub that looked busy, he parked the bike and went inside. Here, he ordered some fish and chips along with a glass of beer. One glass wouldn't hurt, after all. Taking a seat in a corner, he fished out his cell phone and placed a call.

"Yes," a man answered.

"Our friend wasn't at home. Should I leave the package or wait until he returns?"

"I'd rather you guarantee he got it. Anyone could just take it if you leave it on his doorstep and it is rather important."

"Very well, I'll bring it back with me tonight," the motorcyclist said.

"Perhaps he will be back on Tuesday. You should probably try back then," the man on the phone told him.

"Why not tomorrow?"

"It's the American's special holiday, their 'Independence Day'. Surely if he is away, he is not planning on returning on a holiday."

The sneer in the other man's voice at the words 'Independence Day' carried over the phone and brought a smile to the motorcyclist's face. The Americans, celebrating the day of their liberation from a cruel king, yet oblivious to the way they were perceived throughout much of the world as so similar to that old monarchy. Only their chosen friends were permitted 'freedom' and even that freedom was something of an illusion, really. Look at the Saudis, their ruling family falling all over itself to kiss the collective ass of the Americans. Yet it was one of their own countrymen who led Al Qaeda and many others who filled its ranks were Saudis as well.

And then there was the Americans' dependence of Middle Eastern oil. Oh, what glorious things could be done with that knife, the man thought. Stop the flow of oil and watch the Western economies grind to a halt. Perhaps, in a decade or two, when their Arab brothers came to their senses and realized that the Americans and the rest of the West were their enemies, perhaps then that weapon would be used, provided it still was a weapon at that point.

"Salim, are you still listening to me?" the man on the phone asked.

"Yes, Sir," Salim said.

"Somehow I doubt that very much, but for now, return to Leeds at once. We still have work to do before our other presents are ready."

"Of course, it will be as you say."

With that, the man on the other end of the phone hung up. Salim wasn't the best choice for the separate assignment, too full of himself and ideas about the future. Didn't the idiot realize his future was really only measured in days. Perhaps not, perhaps he didn't fully grasp the nature of what would happen if he gave Captain Harmon Rabb that particular present. Once he armed the device, it was set to go off in less than two minutes, nowhere near enough time to escape even if Salim tried.

The man turned back to the table with that thought. He wasn't happy trying to target this Rabb early, certain that such action would put the British on high alert for the following attacks. But the orders he'd received that morning had been explicit. The other attacks were camouflage for the real target, the target that Al Qaeda could get to at the moment. Sadly, they had no friends in Hawaii who could take care of the other. The hope was that she would show up at the funeral of her friend and so join him in the grave.

Rabb Farm – Belleville, Pennsylvania

1127 Eastern/ 1627 Greenwich

Sarah Rabb sat on the front porch, watching her grandson and his wife sitting on the steps. Jack was in the playpen next to her, content to lay on his back and sleep. A nice breeze was blowing in from the north, promising afternoon rains. Mattie had gone for a hike after the family had returned from church that morning. Sarah had been insistent about that, as well as having Jack baptized in the same church as his father, grandfather and great-grandfather.

Now it was just lazy time, until they decided to have lunch. This was one of the things Harm loved about the farm, there was no sense of rush here. Things were done at a different pace, though he'd still done his share of chores this week. There had been a few things Grandma Sarah couldn't do that he had turned his hand to. Beth had lent a hand too, as had Mattie. Between the three of them, they had gotten everything accomplished, which was good because tonight they needed to pack up. Tomorrow, it was on to Washington, after Harm dropped Mattie and 'Sarah' off in Blacksburg. He hoped that Beth would be able to manage the drive down by herself with Jack.

Beth was also thinking about tomorrow and saying goodbye to Mattie for almost two months. Oh, she had readily agreed to the teen taking lessons and she knew that Beth O'Neil would be a good instructor for the girl. Still, it was the first time that the teen would be away for such an extended amount of time. Before, it had been weekends at most. This was something different entirely.

"Everything set for tomorrow?" Beth asked Harm.

"Yeah. Mattie and I fly from Mifflin to Blacksburg, where we're meeting Beth. Then, I catch a ride up to Falls Church and meet you at the house. Are you sure you don't want to stay there instead of a hotel?" Harm asked her.

"Definitely. If we stay there, we have to wash some sheets for the bed and get everything cleaned before we can use it. Then we have to go to the trouble of putting everything back away when we leave on Tuesday."

"There is that. I just thought you'd like to spend a night at home."

"Right now, home is in London. The house in Falls Church won't be home until we move back there," Beth told him.

"Then Tuesday morning, we catch our flight back to London. With luck, we'll be home in plenty of time for dinner," Harm told her.

"Why don't we go back on Wednesday, darling. We could spend Tuesday in Washington, maybe picnic on the Mall."

I thought we'd agreed to the early return, so that we could get over our jetlag before we have to report for duty on the seventh."

"I know. I just miss being in the states, is all. Besides, it would be fun to have a little picnic, just you, me and Jack," Beth said.

"Tell you what, we'll go back to London and we can find a park, have our picnic there," Harm said. "And get caught up on all the laundry we'll need to do, pick up our dry cleaning and stock up on groceries, too."

Beth just looked at Harm and sighed. She knew he was right, there would be plenty of things that they would have to do once they returned home. The extra day would help with that, along with getting their bodies readjusted to the different time. It didn't mean that she had to like the thought that their family vacation was coming to an end.

Harm was experiencing similar feelings, along with a sense of regret. This was something that often came to him after spending any amount of time on the farm. He wished he had more time to spend with his grandmother, especially as she got older. One day, she'd be gone and he'd end up looking back on these years as time lost. Now he felt it even more, as he wanted his own son to have memories of his great-grandma, not just stories passed down from his parents.

"Well, I see Mattie approaching," Sarah said from her seat on the porch. "Why don't I go inside and see about making something for lunch."

"Let me help you, Grandma," Harm said as he stood up and brushed his pants off. Looking into the distance, he saw the copper-headed teen walking towards them and smiled.

"I was thinking some bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches for those of us who enjoy meat. You can either fix a salad or there's some hard-boiled eggs, you could do egg salad sandwiches."

"Probably the salad, maybe with the eggs and some grated cheddar cheese. You still have that peppercorn ranch dressing, right?"

"Of course I do," Sarah said with a smile. "Also the blue cheese dressing and thousand island, too. You know where they are."

The pair of them went into the kitchen, where Sarah removed a large package of bacon from the refrigerator. She set a frying pan on the stove top and heated it up, before putting several thick slices of bacon in the pan. The smell of the frying bacon brought Beth into the house, carrying Jack with her and trailed by Mattie. While the bacon was frying, Sarah began lightly toasting some wheat bread and Harm sliced some beefsteak tomatoes for her. With that accomplished, she loaded a platter with the tomato slices, a leaf lettuce and carried it to the table. Harm expertly turned the bacon for her while she did that, then turned his attention to his salad upon her return to the stove.

Harm finished making his salad at about the same time that Sarah had a large pile of bacon stacked on a plate. She got a jar of mayonnaise from the refrigerator and carried both items to the table, which Mattie had set for them. Harm brought his salad over, along with a pitcher of sun tea that had been slowly brewing on the window ledge since early that morning. His grandmother had once told him that it was silly to waste fuel brewing tea when the sun would do it naturally, if you just gave it a little time. Certainly, one couldn't tell the difference in the taste.


	4. Chapter 4

A flat – Leeds, England

1924 Greenwich

Five men sat around the table, on which sat the remnants of their dinner. One was much older than the others and it was he who had slowly recruited them all to Al Qaeda. There were times he wanted to smile, though he forced it down. A serious face was what was proper for the moment, giving the appearance of concern about their thoughts and feeling. In actuality, he wanted to laugh at the naivety and at how easily they would be replaced once their jobs were done. More easily if they succeeded than not, but still replaced by other young men lured from the mosques to fight the jihad.

For now, they were all looking over various maps of greater London. One was of the underground, another a street map with the various potential targets marked. The leader was having them go over on the maps where they were to strike and how they were to get there. If there was one things he'd learned, in this war against the west, it was much better to blend in. That was why each of these men had spent the previous months keeping to something of a schedule, making frequent trips into London. They took the underground, they rode the buses and took taxis, all the things that normal people did. Sometimes they had bags with them, sometimes not. All designed so that if for some reason the police were looking at them, they would eventually dismiss them as nothing other than they appeared to be.

The bombs were completed and lay waiting in the back bedroom. The detonators were in the front bedroom, the leader wanting them as well separated as possible until they were needed. The last thing they wanted to a premature detonation. No, these were meant for greater things than just making a crater in Leeds.

Getting up from the table, he went into the small kitchen and filled a cup of coffee. Then it was back to the table and the maps. Nothing more could be done and none of them would be going into London until it was time for the great day. In fact, none of them would leave this apartment until Thursday, except for Salim on Tuesday. The risk involved still nagged at the back of his mind. Should he defy his instructions and wait until Thursday for all the attacks or risk Salim failing and possibly revealing the location of the cell?

As he pondered that question, he sipped at the coffee.

July 4, 2005

Guy's Hospital – London, England

0653 Greenwich

Sir Alistair struggled with his patience, having been awake for almost half an hour. Yet, there was no television to turn on, no newspaper to read and worst of all, no idea what had happened in the last two days outside of this hospital. So, he'd concentrated on working the left side of his body. There was more strength and movement in his left arm today, he was pleased to see. But his left leg was still nearly useless. Well, it wasn't as if he'd be called on to run anywhere, he thought. The arm, however, he needed for his reading and typing, not that the later had ever been that good to begin with.

No, he needed to get back home and see if anything new had come from his contacts. He also wanted to see how plans were coming for bin Aziz's arrival at Heathrow. He strongly suspected that there was a method to the man's layover, if he could only see it. But he couldn't, there were too many pieces to the puzzle still missing. Which was all the more reason he needed to be at home, so he could try to find those pieces.

The door to the room opened then, admitting both Doctor Schulte and Michael. Michael took a seat near the door, while the doctor came over to examine his patient. He noted the same things that Alistair had and silently nodded his head. This was definitely a TIA, which was definitely better than a full stroke, but still something that needed to be taken more seriously than his patient seemed to be.

"Sir Alistair, you need to rest and allow your body to recover. You also need to let us find out what caused this. As I said yesterday, this is a warning and if not properly treated, you will have a stroke, one that will most likely kill you. So, I repeat, you're going to stay here and let us find out what caused it, so we can treat it," Doctor Schulte said.

"But my…." Alistair started to say, before being cut off by the doctor.

"But your work? Surely it's not more important than your own life, is it? And there must be someone else who can accomplish it in your place."

"Quite frankly, doctor, there is not. And at times, yes, the work is more important than my own life, because we could be talking about thousands of lives if I fail in my duties."

Doctor Schulte fixed Sir Alistair with a disbelieving look, one that definitely did not go unnoticed by his patient.

"My good man, trust me, I am not exaggerating in the slightest," Sir Alistair said calmly. "My life's work is the protection of Queen and country and at present, we are facing the gravest threat in almost 20 years. And almost seventy years in harness have given me resources that my younger associates simply do not have, which is why they cannot replace what I can do."

"Sir Alistair is correct in that," came a voice from the doorway. The doctor's head snapped over as he straighten, a look of shock forming as the Prime Minister came into the room. "Please, doctor, there's no need for that. Besides, I can only stay a few moments, before the press think that I'm here for some sinister reason, like I have cancer or a bad heart."

"You needn't have come, Sir. I'll be out as soon as I can convince the doctor here to release me."

"Yes, but I don't want him to release you before they know what is wrong with you. Her majesty was most concerned when I informed her last night."

"Please thank her majesty for her concern and tell her it is greatly appreciated," Sir Alistair said.

"I shall inform her majesty of your message upon my return. On a personal note, Sir Alistair, perhaps you should start trying to pass over some of your various sources," the Prime Minister said. "It would be a tragedy for the country if they were to be lost."

"When I find a worthy successor, I will be more than happy to do so, Prime Minister. Alas, many of my sources are also getting on in years. They want a friend that they can talk to, not someone just ringing up to pump them for information," Sir Alistair said.

"As long as you are looking for that someone, I shall rest easily, as I'm sure will her majesty."

Sir Alistair just silently nodded as the Prime Minister turned and left the room. He had fully heard the underlying message of the politician's words: that both parties wanted to know when he would be exiting the stage. Yet he could not help but thinking that this was not the best moment to do so, not as long as his mind was still in fighting trim. He also thought back over his eighty-five years, as well as the long years of service he'd given to his country.

Sir Alistair had been born in 1919 and come of age just as the Second World War was starting. He'd been at Oxford then and had left the University in order to join the British Army as a lieutenant. Over the course of the next four years, he'd risen in rank to lieutenant colonel before being wounded on Sword Beach on June 6, 1944. After he recovered, he'd been sent to work with the SIS. Alistair had quickly taken to his new profession, putting a sharp mind to work along with the military skills he'd learned in the war.

As the war started to draw to a close, he'd turned his attention to the new threats facing Britain, Communism and Nationalism. The late 1940s saw him assigned to Germany, where he'd matched wits with the Soviets. Then it was on to Austria and back home in the early 1950s, followed by time spent in Iraq and Iran, Lebanon and Yemen, almost fifteen years spent becoming something of an expert in the area. Then, the 1970s and back at headquarters, with a few years spent in Washington working with the CIA and strengthening the relationship between the two services. It all culminated in his appointment in 1981 as the new head of SIS, the new 'C'. Six more years of service, then his knighthood and three more on the Joint Intelligence Committee before he'd been shown the door in 1990, the civil servants pointing to his age. So, he'd packed his office and retired to his home in London and the small estate in Northern Scotland, to enjoy his time with his wife and family.

That was when fate stepped in. First had come the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August, with the SIS calling him in to, as they put it, 'consult on important matters'. The one benefit of being a consultant, rather than an employee, was the pay was much better. Other than that, it was largely the same job he'd always had, taking the pieces and putting the puzzle together. Just when the Gulf War was ending had come the next blow, when his beloved Anna was diagnosed with cancer. The fight she'd put up had shown who the real hero in the family was, in Alistair's opinion. She's won the first round, when it was in her lymph nodes and then it came back, this time in her bones. The second time they weren't so lucky, with the disease finally wearing her down.

Losing Anna had been hard on Alistair, but he felt as if she was still with him. He'd see a picture or smell a particular odor and his mind would take him back to another place, another time when she had been with him. Fifty years as a lot of time to build memories and it was those memories that had sustained him since her passing. It was those memories that he turned to now, as he closed his eyes and rested.

Airborne – somewhere between Belleville and Blacksburg

0958 Eastern/ 1458 Greenwich

Harm had wanted to make an early start of it, given that it was a holiday and the roads were sure to be clogged with people enjoying the day off. So, he'd packed up the car last night, except for what they were wearing and would be wearing today. He kept Mattie's duffle out until last, since that would be going on 'Sarah' with them. Then he'd gone inside and briefed the family on the plans. Beth would drive the Lexus down to Washington, taking Jack with her. He and Mattie would fly down and get her situated with O'Neil, then Harm would join Beth and Jack in Washington.

The best laid plans began to go awry first thing that morning, when Harm couldn't find the keys to the plane. It was only after unpacking the car and going through his suitcase that he found them, along with a twenty dollar bill at the bottom of his shaving kit. Then he'd been forced to repack the suitcase and the car before they could leave for the airport. So, now they were roughly an hour behind his optimistic schedule for the day.

Still, nothing in the air could detract from the joy he was currently feeling. Once they were airborne, he'd settled the trainer on course and altitude before turning the controls over to Mattie. Now, he just settled back and watched as she flew the plane, keeping an open eye at their surroundings, but not much else. The plane had more than enough fuel to make it to Blacksburg without landing, so she'd have little to do besides keep the plane on course and level. Harm thought that was just fine, as he wanted to make the teen understand that flying wasn't about fancy maneuvers and having fun. Flying, to Harm's mind, was only partly those things. It was also a means of getting somewhere and just enjoying the view as you did so.

Scanning the sky once again, Harm caught sight of another aircraft approaching. He quickly judged that the plane should pass more than a mile in front of them, so he scanned the rest of the sky. Coming back to the only other plane that he saw, a frown creased his face. The plane seemed to be angling towards the Stearman as the point of intersection now looked to be less than half a mile. Also, they were at roughly the same altitude.

"My airplane," Harm said over the intercom, waiting to see Mattie's hand appear above the edge of the cockpit signaling that she had released the controls.

"Your airplane," Mattie parroted back as she watched the stick begin to move. Only then did she seem to notice the other plane. Her voice caught as she called out. "Dad, there's another plane!"

"Saw it, Boss."

Harm snapped the yellow trainer to the right, making so that he would take the other plane down the left hand side. Yet, the other plane matched his turn, so that it was still on a collision course. The distance was reduced to the point that Harm could clearly see the other plane and his eyes widened as he realized it was an F-86 Sabre.

"What the hell?" Harm muttered before switching the radio set to guard. "Unidentified Sabre, near the Maryland/ West Virginia state line. Change course immediately! You are on a collision course with my plane!"

Harm tried another turn, only to be matched once again. The range was rapidly decreasing, the other pilot evidently at full throttle. Harm had nothing left at this point, so he cut power and snapped the trainer over onto its back. Then he dove for the deck, executing a split-S while keying the radio once again.

"Washington Center, this is Stearman N53153. I am declaring an emergency, over."

"Stearman N53153, this is Washington Center. Read you loud and clear. Set transponder to 7700 and state nature of emergency, over."

"This is 153. Have just avoided a mid-air collision with an unidentified F-86 Sabre in vicinity of Maryland/ West Virginia state line. I am on a VFR flight plan direct Blacksburg out of Mifflin County."

There was a moment's hesitation before the voice came back with more than a shade of doubt framing it.

"N153, you said an F-86 just tried to mid-air you?"

"That's correct, Washington Center. I made two separate turns to evade and both times the other aircraft turned into me. I ultimately had to split-S for the ground to avoid the collision," Harm said just as Mattie screamed.

"Dad, behind us!"

Harm snapped his head around and cursed himself harshly for his stupidity. While on the radio, he'd lost sight of the other aircraft. Perhaps, mentally, he just hadn't been able to make the leap. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to. After all, he wasn't flying a Tomcat, he was flying his Stearman and this was not Bosnia or Iraq but rather home. This shouldn't be what it was becoming clear to be.

"Washington Center, he's back and on my six. Approximately two miles and closing. I am taking evasive maneuvers at this time."

Harm knew the Stearman was completely out of its depth, that the plane hadn't been designed for fighting. Hell, he had nothing to fight with, except the maneuverability of the trainer and its low speed. He would just have to make those things work for him, as well as his training. He could only hope the other pilot wasn't as well trained.

To start with, he snapped a hard turn into the other plane. This forced the other pilot to miss his shot, if that's what he was going for, as he zoomed past. Harm then reversed his turn, trying to keep the other plane well in sight. The other part of his mind heard the calls coming from Washington Center, first trying to reach the other pilot and then incredulously warning other aircraft away from the area, while also telling Harm that they were trying to get some help his way.

Harm prayed it would be soon, as he was rapidly running out of altitude and options. The one thing that seemed to be working in his favor was inexperience on the part of the other pilot. He was making mistakes, missing opportunities for shots because of them. It was almost like it was a video game or something, the way the other aircraft kept trying to reverse back into the Stearman after Harm caused him to overshoot. If Harm had been in the other plane, he's have pulled off and gotten some spacing before making the turn back in because a turning engagement was the Stearman's game, with its slower stall speed and tighter turning radius.

Finally, the other pilot wised up to it or else reached a point of desperation of his own. Whichever, the Sabre pulled away and went almost three miles before turning back towards Harm. Harm braced himself as he tried to come up with a solution. Climbing was out, as all the other plane would have to do is raise its nose to take him. Diving wasn't much better, unless Harm could get below and under the Sabre. Turning wasn't any good either.

"Hold on, Mattie," Harm called over the intercom and flipped the Stearman over, diving for the deck. He couldn't see the Sabre at the moment, given his positioning, but he could visualize it. Would the other pilot push his nose over to follow or roll inverted to. Oh well, time to find out as Harm snapped the plane back over and took a look. OK, he'd pushed the nose down which meant he'd lose sight of the Stearman as they got closer. Harm pushed over and dove almost straight down, the throttle back to avoid over-speed.

He kept shifting his glance from the other plane to the ground and back again. The Sabre was trying to match him and Harm smiled. At about 150 feet from the tree tops, he pulled savagely back on the stick, yanking the trainer out of its dive. The other pilot saw this and tried to follow but it was too late. The Korean War-era fighter slammed into the ground, exploding on impact.

"Washington Center, this is N153. Wish to report a downed aircraft at my position. Suggest alerting the Forest Service to the fire, as well as local authorities," Harm called, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Copy, N153. Will advise the authorities. What is you status and intentions, over?" the Controller asked.

"We're airborne and will proceed direct to Blacksburg unless directed otherwise."

"Copy, N153. Will advise FAA and NTSB to meet you there, as well as local authorities."

"Roger, Washington Center. We will remain on the airfield until they arrive," Harm said with a mental shrug. It being the holiday, he wondered how long it would take for them to show up and what effect this would have on the rest of his plans. He would have to call Beth and advise her of the change as soon as they landed.

"Mattie, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Dad," Mattie answered back, yet she didn't exactly sound it. She sounded tired, scared and sick. Something else to deal with, once they got on the ground. Trying to comfort the teen wasn't exactly possible, but he could talk to her.

"You don't sound fine, Boss. Talk to me, please," Harm said.

"I thought we were going to die, Dad."

"So did I, Mattie. It's alright to admit being afraid, you know."

"But you didn't show it," Mattie said.

"Because I've had training. That's all that was. Plus, I've been there before, where somebody was trying their hardest to take my life. And I've learn to push the emotion aside and get the job done, which is keeping us alive," Harm told her.

"But the other pilot, we killed him."

"No, Mattie. He's responsible, not you or me or anyone else."

Yet as Harm said those words, he wondered about that last piece. Why was someone trying to shoot his plane out of the sky? Was it just a random thing, someone just hell bent of destruction and his plane was the first target of convenience? Or was it something planned and if so, why?

Dulles International Airport – Dulles, Virginia

1231 Eastern/ 1731 Greenwich

Abdullah bin Aziz walked swiftly across the tarmac from his Mercedes sedan to the waiting G-V. He was concerned and had made the snap decision to leave the country immediately. His aides were even at that moment cancelling the meetings he'd flown over for, citing an emergency back in Riyadh that demanded his immediate and personal attention. Little did they know that the emergency was much closer than Riyadh and he was leaving to try and avoid being linked to it.

Subterfuge and misdirection were both elements that he used to stay one step ahead of people. That was why he'd changed his flight at the last moment and came on Sunday, not Monday. It was also why he was taking a chartered plane now, rather than waiting for a commercial flight later. He'd had the pilots file a flight plan for Los Angeles. Once they were airborne, he'd have them change it to the Azores. From there, it would be onward to Cairo and a last short hop to home.

His concern was the result of no information. His sources had found the American, the one his friend Sadik Fahd has looking for. He'd even managed to uncover the planned flight that morning. So, he'd made contact with a mercenary, a man with a fighter plane and a price. One that Abdullah was more than willing to meet. The man had laughed when he'd been told what he was supposed to bring down and had been confident that it would be no challenge. Perhaps too confident, Abdullah reflected.

The plan had called for the attack to have been over by now and the mercenary was supposed to call a special number once the job was completed and he'd landed. No call had come, nor was there any way that Abdullah was going to call the number he had. No, instead he disposed of the cell phone he'd used, an untraceable prepared phone bought at a carryout. Then, he'd made his plans to leave. He could get the bad news just as easily elsewhere, preferably somewhere well away from American law enforcement.

10 Downing Street – London, England

1753 Greenwich/ 1253 Eastern

C stood outside the most famous doorway in the world, his eyes downward as he hurried to his car and got in the backseat. He'd just had the rather unpleasant experience of being raked out the coals by the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary and the Secretary of State for Defence. The cause of the meeting was SIS's failed surveillance of Abdullah bin Aziz. When they had set up at Heathrow that morning, they had been in plenty of time for the arrival. Over twenty agents had covered the terminal, posing as workers and travelers, rotating through the area so as not to be noticed.

It was only after the flight had landed and the plane had emptied that the first hint of the disaster had appeared. Nobody had bother to confirm that their target was on the plane when it left Riyadh. So it was only when bin Aziz failed to appear that the alarm was rung. It had taken the better part of two hours to discover that his reservations had been changed at the last minute and he had actually arrived yesterday and then flew on to New York.

Now, SIS was trying to salvage what they could from the mess. Security camera footage was being examined, in the hope that they could identify anyone their target had met with. Still, that was going to be a long process, given the sheer size of Heathrow as well as coordinating the various tapes so that they could track both bin Aziz and anyone he met.

The Prime Minister had been particularly scathing in his remarks, which C would well understand. If disaster struck, it would be the PM standing before not only Parliament but the country as well trying to explain how they had failed. It could well bring down the government, if it was big enough. And it was his organization that had failed, leaving C with a rather large amount of egg on his face.

Settling back into his seat in the car, C closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. He ordered the driver to take him to the office, so that he could oversee the work being done. Not that he didn't trust his people, but the stakes were growing by the moment and sometimes a friendly reminder of all that was at risk helped to motivate people.

Twenty minutes later, he was seated in his conference room with not only the heads of the sections responsible, but also with the key members of the surveillance teams.

"What have we got?" C asked calmly.

"Once we identified which flight he came through on, we were able to get a time frame to begin searching in," said the head of his technical services staff. "We found this about thirty minutes ago."

On the screen, Abdullah bin Aziz was seen walking off the jet way from his flight. Shadowing him were two men who were very obviously a protection detail. How much use they would be was another question, considering they couldn't possibly be armed with anything other than hands and feet. The tape paused then and a second screen came to life, as the two guards were identified.

"Spetsnaz?"

"Yes, Sir, they were. Both from the bad old days. We have rather extensive files on both men, from their time in Afghanistan," came a reply from the head of the Russian intelligence section. "Given bin Aziz's connections to bin Laden, it makes me curious why he'd hire there two."

"Besides being available and less expensive than other personnel with the same skill set?" came a sarcastic rejoinder from one of the surveillance personnel.

"Seriously, bin Laden and Al Qaeda probably have as big a conflict with Russia as they do with the Americans, yet one of their major players is using Russian ex-Spetsnaz for security?"

"Why he's using them doesn't exactly matter, gentlemen. Other than letting us know he takes his personal security somewhat seriously. Let move forward, please," C said. After a moment, the screen jumped to life and they followed bin Aziz through the crowd. "We need to see who he meets."

The next hour was spent playing through, at slightly higher speed, the entire layover at Heathrow. Bin Aziz and his bodyguards stopped at a stand and got some coffee, it appeared. The surveillance staff saw, making a note to check the man out who had served him. It was towards the end of the show that they caught the break they had been looking for. The group was making their way back to their outbound flight when a man bumped into one of the guards. It was brief, but still it caught the attention of the men watching.

"Stop," called out one of the surveillance people. "Back that up."

The footage was rewound to a point just before the collision and restarted at a much slower speed. The first cue was the eyes, a split-second of recognition before they moved to look elsewhere. Then it was the hands, how the approaching man had his hands in his pockets until just before they collided, yet the hands didn't come out in a protective action. Rather, they stayed low and merged with those of the bodyguard.

"The guard did the pass."

"Very clever on the part of Mister bin Aziz, very clever indeed. He could place his hand on his heart and swear to God that he knew nothing about this affair. How much you want to bet, if we were to recover whatever was passed, the only prints on it would be the guard's," the head of the surveillance teams said with a smile. The tradecraft wasn't expert, but it was good enough and the layer of removal meant that even if it had been seen, they couldn't have done a damned thing to the real person.

"We need to identify that man as soon as possible," C said. "He's the next link in this chain. Check every possible official source, try to match the picture to a name."

The room emptied quickly, as the thought of a fresh lead kicked the hunt back into gear. C sat there as they left, before picking up the telephone. He waited for his wife to answer before telling her he'd be late for dinner that evening. The half-sigh that passed over the telephone was that of a long suffering wife, well used to meals being delayed or missed altogether.

Grace Aviation – Blacksburg, Virginia

1650 Eastern/ 2150 Greenwich

Harm and Mattie sat on a bench outside the main hanger for the company, near the doors. Inside, the maintenance staff of the company were going over the Stearman. The FAA and NTSB people had just left, which is why the work was just now starting. Harm had answered all of their questions as truthfully as he had been able to, yet the biggest question was still unanswered. Namely, what was behind the attack? At first, the FAA representative had been skeptical, to say the least. It hadn't matter to him that Harm was a serving Captain in the US Navy, nor that the wreckage had been located exactly where it was reported to be.

The thing that sealed the deal was the visual inspection of 'Sarah'. Harm hadn't known it, but the Sabre pilot had managed to hit the biplane, at least with a few shots. Seeing the bullet holes, his knees had gone a little weak. Two of them were just behind his seat and when the NTSB's investigator used her little flashlight to look in the holes, she saw that they had gone clean through to the other side. Another pair of holes were back by the tail, along with a few more in the rudder itself.

When Mattie had seen there, she'd gotten sick. Harm and the investigators had moved around to the other side of the plane to give her some privacy while she vomited. It was only when he saw she was done and just standing there shaking that Harm came back around and wrapped his arms around her. The investigators finished collecting what evidence they could from the plane before coming over to talk with Harm some more.

A slightly sore point for the man from the FAA was Mattie being in control of the plane at the time the Sabre was first sighted. Harm had patiently explained to the man that he was bringing her here to learn to fly from an FAA-certified instructor, that Harm was well awake and had been ready to take control when something happened and that, by the way, Mattie happened to be the owner of Grace Aviation, thank you very much.

The lady from the NTSB had grinned at the pained look that passed over the FAA man's features. Since she was the lead investigator, she thanked them both and led the man away after handing Harm a copy of her business card.

Beth O'Neil came outside now, looking over at where Harm and Mattie sat. She'd been there when the plane had landed and Harm had briefed her on what had happened. So, seeing them like that, she headed over to one of the other hangers and gave them some space.

"Mattie, look at me," Harm said as he watched O'Neil walk off. He knew he needed to make sure that Mattie was alright before he left, even if it meant getting into Washington close to midnight.

"The flight itself was scary, but then to see those holes," Mattie said before tears came to her eyes.

"Let it all out, sweetheart, just let it out."

Harm held her as she cried, an unseen, unexpressed anger building within him. Yet, he bottled it up for now, focusing solely on his daughter.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Hey, I'd rather have you do this now, than breakdown later. You need to deal with the emotions or they'll take over. Besides, you're still a kid, even if you are 16 going on 40," Harm said with a little smile, one that got an answering one from Mattie.

"Maybe 30. 40 is just so ooolllldddd," Mattie said, drawing out the last word, knowing that Harm was older than that.

"It's not that old!"

"OK, 40 isn't old."

"But seriously, are you going to be alright?" Harm asked.

"Once I get over the fact that someone tried to kill us, maybe," Mattie said.

"Well, start with the fact that we're alive and unhurt and build from there."

"Is that what it's like to be a fighter pilot, Dad?"

"In some ways, yes. The difference is the training. See, people die all the time. Training accidents teach you to push certain things aside. You have to believe you're, if not invincible, than certainly luckier than the poor guy who just killed himself because he was too low to the ground when he started pulling out of a dive. Or when his flight control system failed on landing. Or his plane just mysteriously crashed. Because, if you can't, you'll either wash out or be the next one."

"Isn't that a little cold-blooded, Dad?" Mattie asked.

"Flying fighters is a cold-blooded business, Mattie. Your job is to kill other airplanes and you try to forget that those planes you shoot down, those bandits, they all have people at the controls. But you have to push that aside to do the job," Harm told her.

"I'm not sure I can do that."

"Well, there are plenty of other careers out there besides flying fighters."

Mattie just looked at Harm when he said that and he just looked at her.

"You mean, you wouldn't be disappointed if I didn't become a fighter pilot like you?" Mattie asked with a little frown.

"Mattie, you've got to live your own life. If that's flying fighters for the Navy, great. If it's playing banjo in a bluegrass band, super. It can be whatever you want it to be and you'll never have a bigger supporter than me," Harm told her.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Does that mean you don't want Beth to teach you to fly, because you don't have to do it…?"

"Hell, no. I want to learn to fly, I'm just not sure I want to learn to fly fighters," Mattie said emphatically.

"That's fine, Mattie. The Navy needs more P-3 pilots, anyway," Beth O'Neil said as she came back. She'd only hear the last couple of sentences of their conversation, though. She couldn't help the grin that came at the look of horror on Harm's face at the thought of Mattie flying the sub hunter.

"No daughter of mine with be a flying bus driver," Harm declared.

"Funny, I thought you said I could do whatever I want and you'd support me."

Harm looked from O'Neil to Mattie and back again, visibly questioning his own sanity at putting the pair of them together if they were already like this. For O'Neil's part, she was relieved to see some of the spark back in Mattie's eyes. Just then a car pulled up, a newer Jeep Wrangler. Harm could see O'Neil's girlfriend Debbie behind the wheel, a pair of dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. She climbed out of the Jeep and came over, a Virginia Tech t-shirt paired with blue jeans and hiking boots. A camera case hung at her, doubling as a purse.

O'Neil and Debbie exchanged kisses in greeting, before Debbie offered her hand to Harm followed by Mattie. Harm watched Mattie to see what she would do, especially after being confronted by the sight of the two women kissing. Mattie, though, just stuck out her hand and introduced herself.

"So, you'll be staying with us a few weeks, I understand," Debbie said.

"Yes, Ma'am," Mattie said.

"Nope, not Ma'am. I'm Debbie and you're Mattie, OK?"

"OK, Debbie."

"Now, that old lady over there, you can call her Ma'am," Debbie said with a grin.

"Hey, I'm only 8 years older than you. Stop acting like I robbed the cradle when we started dating," O'Neil said. "You can call me Beth or O'Neil, like Harm does, though I think the O'Neil thing only started after he got married."

"Hey, I have to keep you and my wife straight," Harm said.

"Hell, Captain, if you can't keep the two of us straight, you need to get your eyes checked."

"Not falling for that one, O'Neil."

"Finally getting some wisdom in your old age?" O'Neil asked sweetly.

"No, more like being married taught me when to keep my mouth firmly shut," Harm said.

Both O'Neil and Mattie laughed at that, drawing a long-suffering headshake from Harm. Debbie looked at the teen and thought it would be interesting to photograph the girl. Most of her work involved nature, taking wildlife pictures for the government. Some she even sold privately, which was why she was down here today. There was a small festival in town, so she'd set up a booth for a few hours and had taken orders as well as displayed a few samples. The samples were all sold, which meant they'd have extra room on the trip back to Strasburg, where she and Beth had set up their new home.

Strasburg had been something of a compromise for them, being an hour away from Dulles and the Grace Aviation charter operations there. But Beth had finally come to agree with Debbie about not wanting to live underneath the Dulles traffic pattern and the resultant noise. Strasburg was also near the Shenandoah National Park, which served as a backdrop for many of Debbie's photography. The downside was, for the next few weeks, Beth and Mattie would be driving a long way to reach Blacksburg and 'Sarah'. Beth couldn't bring 'Sarah' into Dulles, given the fast pace of operations there.

Getting the luggage out of the Stearman, Harm carried Mattie's bag over to the Jeep. Debbie then told him to toss his in too, that they were going his way. Harm and Mattie took the backseat, while Debbie and Beth were in the front. Debbie made sure to pull her seat up as far as she could to give the long legged Harm as much room as she could. As they exited the parking lot, he could see the two women holding hands in the front seat and smiled slightly, even more so as Mattie leaned over and snuggled up against him.


	5. Chapter 5

July 5, 2005

Compound – near Peshawar, Pakistan

0923 Local/ 0423 Greenwich/ 2323 Eastern

Sadik Fahd sat looking at the message displayed on his computer screen, torn between disbelief, rage and grudging admiration. He had not expected something like this from Abdullah bin Aziz, for the man had never shown much desire to get his hands dirty. Oh, the man had financed many operations, including the purchase of those Stinger missiles two years ago. But this was different, a much more direct connection. He hadn't thought the man had it in him, despite the many years he'd known him.

The rage, though, was at the failure to kill Harmon Rabb. Now the man was alerted, meaning that the attempt in London would most likely not be successful. Sadik wondered if he should call it off and just have the other three attacks proceed on their own. It wasn't as if they depended on the other attack to be successful in their own right, after all. Turning from the computer, he went over to a table that had been set up. Laying on it were all sorts of maps of London, southern England.

Sorting through them, he found the map he preferred, one that had the mass transit system laid out over the streets. He tried to visualize the areas where his men would strike, what they would look like after as the various casualties flooded out and police and first responders came to their rescue. As he stood there, a grim smile came to his face, the imagined destruction pleasing him greatly. Then the smile faded as his thoughts returned to Harmon Rabb and Sarah MacKenzie, Rabb more so than MacKenzie. It was he who had arrived to save the day, from where Sadik had no idea. He's known about the other American, the 'backup' for the pair he had captured. That man hadn't been much of a threat, which is why his men weren't actively pursuing him after MacKenzie and Webb had been caught.

After the failure in Paraguay, he'd had to face Osama and defend himself and his position. That he had been successful was only due to his long relationship with the leader and his undoubted loyalty. But a second failure would not be as easily forgiven, nor forgotten. That was why he wanted to make sure Rabb was out of the way. From everything he'd been able to learn, the man seemed like a bad luck charm, always where you didn't want him and always sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. And now, Abdullah may have insured the man would be looking their way just when the great attack was to take place.

CIA Headquarters – Langley, Virginia

0418 Eastern/ 0918 Greenwich

The analyst finally reached the folder containing the report of a mysterious air attack over southern Maryland. Glancing at the cover sheet, she saw that the report had been flagged because the victim had once been in the employ of the agency. Reading through the reports, she started looking for things that she could track. The body of the pilot had been recovered and an autopsy was tentatively scheduled for later today. She flagged that, so that she would be notified when the results came in, particularly dental records and hopefully fingerprints. No, she saw, not much chance of that, given the tag of "remains burned beyond recognition".

Next, she read through what had been recovered at the crash site. No identification on the body, a few standard aeronautical charts with some scribbled notations and the wreckage of the aircraft. A serial number had been found in the wreckage and tracked backwards to an F-86F built in 1952. It had been sold as surplus by the US Air Force in the late 1960s and bought by an aviation museum for display. When the museum failed in 1993, the collection had been sold off to satisfy creditors. A man named Everett Long had purchased the plane and then it basically had disappeared. As far as the FAA was concerned, the plane was listed as not airworthy and not registered.

Checking on Mister Long took only a few moments and brought a slight smile to the analyst's face. Somebody had used the man's identity, she guessed as she read. Long was 95 and lived in a nursing facility in Lexington, Kentucky. He'd served in the Army during World War Two and had flunked out of flight school before being assigned to the 3rd Armored Division. The reason he'd failed was severe air sickness.

Going back to the sale of the plane, she tried to see if the company that had handled the auction was still in business. Perhaps they'd have some records that could be helpful in finding the real purchaser of the aircraft. For now, she began creating her initial report on the incident. She listed what she knew and what she was planning to do. That way, if someone senior to her took over, they would have an idea of what she'd planned. She then closed out of the file and moved on to the next one.

The analyst had no way of knowing that Harmon Rabb's name was flagged and that when she'd put the report into the database, a warning message had been sent to Catherine Gale's computer. Catherine wasn't due in for another couple of hours, but it would be there waiting for her when she logged into the system.

O'Neil's house – Strasburg, Virginia

0723 Eastern/ 1123 Greenwich

Debbie was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea while looking over the proofs from her newest book. The Department of the Interior had taken over a hundred of her best pictures and come up with a book showing the Shenandoah Valley in all of its glory. All the seasons were represented, from the snowy fields of winter to the lush grasses of summer. She smiled at the images, having remembrances of all the times she'd hiked the Valley, finding spots to set up her cameras and then the long wait for just the right pictures, scenes that captured emotions more than images.

One of the best, in her opinion, was a doe and her fawn just skirting a meadow. Once could see the protectiveness of the mother with her child, but also see the inherent danger of the situation for animals out in the open during what could be hunting season. Debbie liked the different thoughts the picture could produce. She also just loved animals, which explained the two cats that sat on the floor next to her chair.

Beth O'Neil came into the kitchen then, smiling at her girlfriend as she made for the refrigerator and a waiting bottle of orange juice. She filled a large glass and carried it to the table, taking the seat next to Debbie. She took the hand of the younger woman and brought it to her lips for a kiss, then looked at the pictures that were on the table.

"Wasn't that last fall?" Beth asked, remembering joining Debbie for that weekend, as there were no flights on the schedule. The long hike had been well worth it, she recalled, especially the enraptured look on Debbie's face when the two deer had appeared.

"Yes. And this one was taken two weeks later, while you were in Boston," Debbie said, pointing to the next picture, which showed a perfect field of snow, not a footstep marking it.

"So, what do you think?"

"Of the book? I think it is better than I hoped for."

"So, you'll make a little money?" Beth asked, teasing her girlfriend. Both of them knew that Debbie would have done the work for free, if she didn't have to pay the bills and eat.

"Oh, I guess," Debbie said with a sigh. "Any sign of Mattie, yet?"

"She was making for the bathroom as I was coming out, so she'll probably be a few minutes."

"And what's on your agenda today?"

"Basic flight training 101. 'This is an airplane. This is a propeller,'" Beth said with a grin.

"That should keep you guys occupied for what, 10 minutes?" Debbie asked, laughing.

"Hey, everybody has to start with the basics."

"I think she knows that much."

"Ah, but one mustn't assume, darling. Remember what I've always said, when you assume…." Beth told her

"You make an ass out of you and me," Debbie finished the statement.

"Personally, I prefer assumption is the mother of fuckup," Mattie said from the doorway, a grin on her face as the two women snapped their heads over to look at her. Her wavy red hair was secured with a tie, forming a loose ponytail, while she wore a T-shirt and jeans.

"I've heard that said before, but usually not from a teenager."

"What, the statement or the language?"

"Both," Debbie said with a frown.

"Sorry, Harm tries to work with me on that, but sometimes it just slips out," Mattie said. "Too much time spent around mechanics on an airfield, I guess."

"Sound more like some Master Chiefs I've known," Beth told her.

"I try to watch it."

"That's all I ask, Mattie. Now, we'll do breakfast and then you and I will go out on the deck and work on some paper flying."

"Paper flying?" Mattie asked. "Like, paper airplanes?"

"No. Like you learn the theory first, then we'll head down to Blacksburg and do the practical. So, reading, reciting and remembering are the order of the day today," Beth said with a smile, seeing a frown come to Mattie's face. "Listen, grasshopper. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

"Great. Not only do I get no flying today, but now you throw in fortune cookie wisdom."

Beth and Debbie laughed at that, which just made Mattie angrier. Debbie saw this and stopped for a moment, putting a hand on Mattie's shoulder.

"Anything worth doing is worth doing right, Mattie. You can't expect to just run out to the airport, jump in the plane and be flying like a pro in ten easy lessons. Beth is going to be hard on you because she wants to you learn it right and she wants you to be safe when you eventually solo. Plus, think of your dad's reaction if anything were to happen to you because Beth didn't properly train you," Debbie told her.

"He's be really upset," Mattie conceded grudgingly.

"Exactly. He's showing a lot of trust in Beth by having her train you and she's not going to break that trust by doing something stupid. Your dad's been a good friend to her over the last few years, to us both really."

"Why do I sense a story there?"

Beth and Debbie shared a smile at that.

"Maybe later I'll tell you about it. Right now, let's just say he's had my back a time or two," Beth said as she got up from the table and headed for the refrigerator. She took out a cartoon of eggs and a pack of bacon and held them up. Debbie shook her head, while Mattie smiled and nodded. So, Beth fixed eggs and bacon for her and Mattie while Debbie made a bowl of oatmeal.

Once the meal was done, Beth left the kitchen for a moment before returning with a couple of books, a notebook and an assortment of pens, pencils and markers. She and Mattie went out onto the deck, enjoying the warm summer sun shining down on them. Later, she'd have to put up the sun shade or it would be too hot out, but that would be a couple of hours off.

"Alright, Mattie. This is for you," Beth said as she handed over the smaller of the books.

"What's this?" Mattie asked.

"That is your pilot's logbook. Every flight you make from now on gets put into that log, so you can track your hours. For the moment, it will track for progress towards your certificate. After that, it will let you see how much you're flying, so you can stay current and safe."

"I've seen Harm do it, but his log stays with 'Sarah'."

"You call leave it on the plane if that's the only one you fly, but it's smarter to keep it with you. That's your record as a pilot and it can be an absolute pain trying to recreate it if you lose it," Beth told the teen.

"Thank you," Mattie said, smiling.

"You're welcome. Now, this is the Pilot's Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge. We'll just call it the Pilot's Handbook or the Handbook for short and this is what we're going to use for your training. Alright?"

"OK."

"Now, Chapter One is just the history of aviation and requirements for the various license. You can read that later. For now, we'll go to Chapter Two and cover the parts of the plane and what they do," Beth said, opening the book and laying it out for Mattie to see.

The next two hours were spent with Mattie listening to Beth cover the various parts of an aircraft and how they worked, how load distribution could affect an aircraft and why the center of gravity was so important. Beth then had Mattie explain things back to her, wanting to see if the teen had been following the information and understood what had been addressed. Mattie, of course, knew much of the information from her time at Grace Aviation, but she'd never had to think about it in terms of piloting the aircraft.

After that, Beth had them take a break and get something to drink. Then she laid out a blank sheet of paper and began carefully drawing on it, while Mattie watched her. When she was done, she had sketched out a rough design of an airplane, a biplane like 'Sarah'. Here, she took Mattie through a discussion of pre-flighting an aircraft. Beth talked about starting at the same spot every time, that she followed a checklist to make sure she didn't miss anything. Mattie nodded her head at that, though she'd noticed Harm hadn't used one when he'd checked 'Sarah' out the other day. Maybe it was all of his years flying her, so that he knew the checklist by muscle memory by now.

Once Beth had talked her through it, she had Mattie repeat the sequence. She had to stop the teen a couple of times to correct her, but that was part of the learning process. It was also why she had Mattie do it without the checklist, wanting her to learn it rather than simply rely on a piece of paper to do the thinking for her. Too many pilots were content to let checklists and advisories take the place of using their brains and common sense, often to find themselves facing disaster without a clue how they got there or how to get themselves out.

Debbie stuck her head out at that point to announce that lunch was ready. She'd fixed a large Chef's salad with their choice of dressings: Ranch, Thousand Island, French and Italian. Debbie went with the Italian, while Mattie and Beth both decided on Ranch. Debbie had her camera case sitting on the counter, Beth saw as she quirked an eyebrow up.

"Hey, you're going to be busy this afternoon teaching your apprentice, so I figured I could get in a couple of hours work, too," Debbie said.

"Well, don't be late for dinner. I thought we'd take Mattie over to Papa's," Beth said.

"Papa's?" Mattie asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Yeah. It's a nice family restaurant, they have everything from chili cheese fries to lobster. Besides, the staff is super friendly and everything is freshly prepared, so the food is excellent."

"Wow that sounds expensive."

"Nope. At least not more so than any of those chain restaurants," Debbie said. "I see the owner at the local farmer's market whenever I stop in to get us vegetables."

"So, make sure you're back, or we'll leave without you," Beth said.

"Not a problem. I'll be home before 5, I promise."

"Love you, dear."

"I love you too," Debbie said as she got up and went to give Beth a kiss before grabbing her case and making for the door. Beth looked at Mattie to see her reaction to the kiss, yet the teen was just watching with a certain degree of fascination. There was no disgust evident at the sight of two women kissing, although the kiss certainly wasn't as passionate so many the couple shared.

Office of the Director, National Clandestine Service – Langley, Virginia

1002 Eastern/ 1502 Greenwich

Director Kershaw sat back in his chair and looked at Catherine Gale, who was seated across the desk from him. He had just been briefed on the situation regarding Harm and he was less than thrilled. Still, he couldn't take out his dissatisfaction on the woman. No, it was the whole thing that bothered him. Too many pieces of the puzzle were still missing, but the picture that was beginning to form was not encouraging, to say the least.

"So, at this point, all we really know is that an unknown person flying a mystery plane tried to shoot down Captain Rabb?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir. We're still trying to discover the identity of the dead pilot and trace the money that purchased the plane, but those efforts aren't proceeding as well as could be hoped for," Catherine said.

"The pilot will probably be the easier of the two, so have them focus there first. Oh, keep working on tracing the money, naturally, but put the pilot's identity at the head of the list," Kershaw said.

"So far, his DNA isn't in the armed forces database nor in the FBI's NCIC. The usable fingerprints didn't generate a match, either. NTSB has requested assistance from Interpol, through the FBI. I've asked that we be kept in the loop, citing a potential national security connection if the man proves to be a foreign national."

"Good, but keep the fact that Rabb used to work with us need to know, alright?"

"Of course, Director. I am concerned, though, about this incident," Catherine said.

"I'm more than concerned, especially given the timing. The following is need to know, Catherine, and I've just decided that you need to know so you can fully appreciate my concerns. November, 2003, we sent a SOG team after Sadik Fahd on a kill or capture mission. After the end of the bloodbath that followed, we'd lost several agents but believed we had killed Fahd. Three months later, a source told the Brits that Fahd was alive and well, having photographed him in Pakistan. As you know, Rabb was one of the people responsible for disrupting Fahd's attempt to acquire Stinger missiles in Paraguay," Kershaw said, looking at Catherine as he saw the tumblers click.

"And Webb died on the mission in 2003. You think Fahd might be coming after Rabb?"

"Possibly. Let me toss this into the mix as well. Last week, the SIS alerted us to the impending arrival of one Abdullah bin Aziz. Bin Aziz is a known Al-Qaeda financer but because we can't prove it, he is simply on the watch list, not on a detain list. Personally, I think it's because the bin Aziz family is well connected and major players in the Saudi oil industry and nobody wants to rock that boat if they don't have to. The intel was for bin Aziz to arrive yesterday and we had the airports staked out, only he came in on Sunday and we missed him. However, we have him cancelling the meetings he'd flown over for and quickly departing Dulles yesterday, not too long after the failed attempt on Captain Rabb."

"You think there's a connection," Catherine stated because she did too.

"No, of course not. I regularly fly thousands of miles just to spend a night and then turn back around and make the long flight back," Kershaw said sarcastically before laughing. "No, this guy did something and wanted to get out of town before things blew up."

"So, what do we do about it?"

"Nothing, because he's probably back in Saudi Arabia by now and there's no way that the Director, let along the National Security Advisor or the President is going to let us snatch this piece of crap off the streets of Riyadh. About all I can do is pass the information on to our cousins and also let the Navy know what we suspect."

"And what about Rabb?" Catherine asked.

Here Kershaw paused. Rabb wasn't exactly his problem or even his concern, not to mention that the CIA was prohibited from operating within the United States. Yet, Rabb was only here on leave and would be returning to England tomorrow.

"I'll suggest to General Creswell that Rabb be provided with a security detail until we can determine if this was a terrorist attack or not. If it was, I'd be willing to bet they'll try again," Kershaw told her. "I'll also ask out cousins to keep an eye on him when he gets back to London."

With that, the meeting broke up. Catherine went back to her office, while Director Kershaw got on the telephone to JAG and relayed the information to General Creswell. The one thing that Catherine hadn't been happy about was that no one seemed to wonder how this would be assassin had found Rabb. It wasn't exactly like Rabb had been a highly visible target, like the President. He was a Navy lawyer taking a vacation and visiting his grandmother in the middle of nowhere, USA. Something stunk here, she believed, so she grabbed the files on Rabb and started doing a much closer examination of them. She also got in touch with the technical wizards of the Agency and had them start looking to see if anyone was surreptitiously accessing any information about Captain Rabb. She had them cover all of JAG, as well.

Office of the Secretary of the Navy – Washington, DC

1348 Eastern/ 1848 Greenwich

SECNAV had just sat through a briefing by General Creswell on the Rabb situation and was decidedly unhappy. Not simply with the fact that an attack had occurred, on American soil no less, against an officer in the Navy, but also with how little real information he was being given. Yet, he also needed to make a decision based on that information and make it now.

"Recommendation, General?" SECNAV asked.

"I'd prefer to err on the side of caution, Sir. We don't exactly know what we're dealing with here, but I intend to assume that it's not just some isolated incident. To that end, I spoke with the Commandant and am borrowing a platoon of Marines from the Twenty-sixth MEU. They'll be on station in London by the time Rabb and his family get back there," Creswell said.

"I'd be much happier if Rabb and his family were going to Naples, frankly."

"That's not scheduled until September, Sir, when NAVFOREUR makes the move. I suppose we could speed things along, but I doubt he's ready to move yet. And then there's the issue of Lieutenant Commander Rabb."

"Who?" SECNAV asked. "I thought Rabb was a Captain."

"His wife, Sir," Creswell reminded the man gently. "They're still trying to come up with a spousal colocation billet for her, or she'll be staying in London with their son and daughter, I suppose."

"I see. Well, make sure that they are well looked after. It would look terrible if something were to occur, especially after the first attack failed."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

With that, the meeting was concluded. General Creswell hated the fact that he had had to drive all the way over from Falls Church for something that could just as easily have been handled over the telephone. Yet, the SECNAV had insisted and that was all there was to it. So, now he had to drive back out to Falls Church, spending more time in the car and he'd be leaving in little more than an hour after he got back. A hell of a way to run a railroad, he reflected as he saw the administrative assistant to SECNAV as she waited to enter his office.

The woman looked to be about 30, with a permanent tan and dark brown hair. The hair hung loose over her shoulders, which were covered by the dark blue dress that she wore. Creswell nodded to the woman as he held the door open for her, then went out the outer door and on into the corridor beyond. He thanked the time he'd served here as he was able to find his way to the exit through the maze and get out to his waiting car.

In the SECNAV's office, the administrative assistant sat down taking notes. She had to fight her features as the man spoke, as a smile threatened. Today was going to be a good day, as she wouldn't even have to work at finding out the information her handler had requested. Instead, it was being served to her on a silver platter by her boss. As she made her notes, she also committed to memory everything important that he was saying. That way, when she saw her handler tonight, she could give him all the details.

Amal Azzam was a Muslim, having been born in Kuwait. Her parents had come to the United States when she was just five, looking for a better life for themselves and their children. They had found it, yet the ties to home had still be strong. So it was that when an old family friend had visited several years ago, he had asked if she was willing to help her people. At the time, she had believed he was with Kuwaiti intelligence, but as she'd been drawn further along the path of treason, she'd come to understand that he was actually with Al-Qaeda and now, so was she.

She had been careful over the years, never to be caught in a lie to her employers or her family. She was still Amal Azzam and the office knew her family was Muslin, yet thought that she wasn't a devout one as they'd seen her with a glass of wine at the occasional gathering. As for her family, they thought the old friend was a suitable companion for their daughter, not knowing the true nature of their relationship. On occasion, she wondered what they'd say if they did know, yet knew better than to tell them and risk everything.

Guy's Hospital – London, England

1932 Greenwich/ 1432 Eastern

Sir Alistair was propped up in bed, a half-eaten dinner occupying the table beside the bed. Right about now, he was seriously craving a bowl of French onion soup and a good piece of fish. The rubbery chicken and barely cooked potatoes had been less than appetizing. Michael had chuckled a little at the look on the old man's face, knowing precisely what he was thinking.

The day had been good, with the physical therapist stopping by to get him up and moving again. Some more movement had returned to his left side, to the point that he was able to grip things with his left hand and raise his left leg. Tomorrow, the plan was to see if he could hold on to a set of rails while trying to walk a little, provided he could stand then. The therapist had suggested Sir Alistair consider a cane when he left the hospital, to aid with balance issues he would have as a result of the attack. He didn't have the heart to tell the young fellow that he had a cane at home, though it was probably not exactly what the man had in mind since it was an old sword cane.

Michael had seen the glint in Sir Alistair's eyes and knew all about the personal defense weapon. He'd seen the old man carry it with him any number of times over the years. The man who tried to mug Sir Alistair was in for the surprise of a lifetime, if Michael didn't get to him first, that is.

The door to the room opened then, as Victor came in. Sir Alistair quirked an eyebrow up when he realized the American was alone. Michael saw this also and quickly stood and left the room.

"How are you this evening?" Victor asked politely, taking the seat that Michael had vacated.

"I'm improving. They want to see if I can walk, or at least stand, tomorrow," Sir Alistair told him.

"That's good news. I know Emily will be happy to hear that, as well."

"Speaking of my granddaughter, she's not with you tonight?"

"She's working, so I decided to come on my own," Victor said. "She'll probably be by in the morning to see you."

"Not that I'm not delighted to see you, Victor, but something tells me there's more to your visit than just checking up on an old man," Sir Alistair said.

"The events of the last couple of days have me slightly curious, Sir."

"Ah, I thought that might be it. You're wondering how a nice, retired diplomat could possibly know Harrison Kershaw?"

"That and how a mid-level diplomat would have the pull to get an Air Force VIP transport diverted to pick up his granddaughter and fly her halfway around the world," Victor said with an easy smile.

"And I don't suppose I could simply deny knowing what you're talking about," Sir Alistair said.

"If it's something you're not allowed to talk about, just say so. I might not like taking 'No' for an answer, but I can respect that you have orders…"

"No, Victor, no orders. I've just never had a need to explain what I did to my family and I never have, other than my late wife. She knew from the beginning. Other than that, you're the first person in the family to guess there was something more."

"I'm not in the family, at least not yet," Victor said quietly.

"As far as I'm concerned, you are, laddie. But, you were asking how I know Harrison Kershaw. No, I wasn't a diplomat, Victor. I was actually a member of SIS, in time becoming the head of SIS. As such, I've met a number of very important, very influential people over the years," Sir Alistair said, watching Victor's face for a reaction.

Victor, in his turn, was stunned by the revelation. Yet, at the same time, he was impressed as well. No, not with the fact that the man he was talking with had once been Britain's head spy, but rather the fact that, in spite of all that, he was also a down-to-earth fellow. Never once in the time he'd know Sir Alistair had Victor ever felt less than respected. He looked at Sir Alistair and smiled faintly.

"I take it you would prefer that Emily doesn't know."

"Yes, Victor. Oh, not because I think this is some awful secret or anything. I just don't want her to wonder if our relationship hasn't all been a lie."

"I doubt that would happen," Victor said. "She knows that you love her and I know she adores you. I think she'd be a bit hurt that you never said anything, but also even more impressed with the man that you are."

"But if I don't tell her, you'd agree to stay quiet as well," Sir Alistair said.

"Yes, Sir. If those were your wishes, I'd respect them."

Sir Alistair nodded his thanks at that, while also acknowledging the burden he was placing on Victor's shoulders with his decision. He was including Victor in that lie as well, now. He could only hope that it didn't come back on the younger man one day.

July 6, 2005

A Flat – Leeds, England

0621 Greenwich/ 0121 Eastern

The sound of the television work the leader up from a slightly restless sleep. The anxiety of the approaching events was starting to catch up to him. He got up and took several deep breathes, calming himself before leaving the bedroom and going out to the living room. He wanted the others to see him as calm and focused, rather than mistaking his tension for fear. He saw Samir sitting on the couch watching the morning news program and nodded a greeting as he passed on his way to the kitchen and a welcome cup of coffee. He was surprised not to see any of the others, though.

"Where are the others, Samir?" he asked as he came back into the living room.

"They went into London, to take a last look at the targets," Samir said, not turning from the television. Therefore, he didn't see the anger that flashed across his leader's face.

"I believe my instructions were that no one was to go into London until we attack tomorrow. Am I not correct?"

"Yes, Sir. But Mohammad said that we should be certain nothing has changed since they were last in London."

"And if they are spotted? I know it is unlikely, but still. There was a reason for my instructions, just as there was a reason for finding this flat as a base of operations and for sticking to a schedule. If the wolf looks like a sheep, acts like a sheep and stays silent, the sheepdog doesn't see the wolf in the midst of the flock, am I not right?" the leader asked as he went to the window and looked outside, out at a world that didn't yet realize the wolf was in their midst.

"Yes, of course," Samir said, having heard this argument many times before, not just from their leader but also from Sadik Fahd and others. The key to being a successful terrorist in the modern world was to blend in, look like everyone else, act like everyone else and wait for your chance to strike.

"Are you ready for your part?"

"Yes, I am. I just pray he'll be home this time. I don't want to fail you or Sadik."

"You won't, my young friend. Sadik and I trust you'll do exactly what needs to be done," the leader said as he came over and rested a hand on the younger man's shoulder for a moment, both acknowledging this day would be the last full day one of them would be alive. By sunset tomorrow, at least one of them would be dead.

Going back to his bedroom, the leader took out a laptop computer. He had used this extremely rarely over the past couple of months, as Al-Qaeda was coming to believe that their electronic communications were being monitored. Still, this was also the only way to get time sensitive information out, which is what he was looking for now. The note he had gotten from Abdullah on Sunday had said the Rabbs were due to fly back to London today. He was instructed to check his message board for any updated information that morning.

The leader frowned as he logged into the site and paged through the various messages. Many were innocent, sent by people all over the world with a passion for Porsches. He was looking for a particular username and when he found it, he opened the message and read it. The frown deepened as he read the message and then deciphered what it meant.

"I'm in the process of shipping a Navy blue 911 to London, but the Marine company is unexpected in their charges and asking for extra security."

The leader definitely didn't like the meaning he got from that message. When Captain Rabb got back to London, he would have Marine security guards. All of their information said that was new and the leader was left to ponder what that meant for the mission. Oh, he certainly wasn't opposed to killing a few Marines. He just wasn't sure the device would get close enough to their target to kill him as well.

Victor Galindez's Quarters – London, England

0658 Greenwich/ 0158 Eastern

Victor came out of the bathroom in time to see Emily disappear down the hall towards the kitchen. They had a well-rehearsed schedule for their mornings. She showered first, while Victor got coffee going and turned on the television to catch the weather report. By the time the coffee was almost ready, Emily would be out of the shower and heading for the bedroom. This was his signal to take his shower and shave, while she got dressed for the day. She also had laid out a pressed uniform for him, so that by the time he was done, he could quickly get dressed and join her.

Today, he found Emily fixing eggs and sausage patties on the stove, an apron covering her silk blouse and dark slacks. Victor went up behind her and put his arms around her, kissing the back of her head. With Emily, he'd found he never tired of seeing her, holding her, just being with her.

"Good morning," he said, his voice slightly muffled by her hair.

"It most certainly is," Emily replied, taking one hand from the spatula she was using to place on top of Victor's joined hands.

"Have I told you this morning that I love you?"

"No, but you certainly showed it last night, darling. I shall not be wearing anything without sleeves and a collar for the next few days."

"Just marking my territory," Victor said with a grin, knowing exactly what she was referring to. "Just like you did with your nails on my back."

Emily just turned and looked at him, fighting to keep her smile from showing. She'd never been with anyone like Victor before. Outwardly, her fiancé came across as a very rigid person, but once she'd seen through the façade, she'd found many unexpected depths to this man. Like the wild passion he brought to the bedroom and the shocking displays of romance, as well. She fingered the braided silver and gold chain he'd given her for Christmas, when he'd said that the chain was how he saw them, two very different and distinct people who together formed something beautiful. Just the memory of that moment brought a mist to her eyes.

"What brought that on," Victor asked as he saw the tears start to form.

"These are happy tears, darling. Sometimes I just can't believe I found a man like you," Emily told him.

"Why ever not, darling? You're attractive, successful and a wonderful companion. Why, I'm surprised you'd want to be with an old man like me, when there are thousands of other men out there who have so much more to offer than I do."

"Oh, Victor, I want you because you respect me, love me and make me feel so very wanted."

"You are wanted. In fact, if neither of us had to get to work, I'd be more than happy to show you exactly how wanted you are," Victor said with a teasing smile.

"Speaking for work, let me finish the breakfast or you'll be going to work hungry. But keep that idea for this evening and I promise no headaches or tiredness," Emily said with an answering smile, before turning back to the stove. The eggs were a little overdone, but neither of them complained as they hurriedly ate. Victor then gave her a kiss before heading for the door and his walk over to the Embassy, collecting his cover from near the door as he left.

It was a warm morning, but cool compared to New Mexico. Walking along the sidewalk, he could see people looking at him in his Marine Corps Class "C" Dress uniform. Victor had always taken pride in his appearance, even more so here in London. He'd passed that along to his guard force as well. They, as much as the flag flying over the Embassy, represented a visible symbol of America as they stood their watches.

As he approached the Embassy, Victor saw that nothing appeared to have changed during his leave. The Marine corporal on duty saluted as he approached.

"Good morning, First Sergeant," she said.

"Good morning, Corporal Till," Victor responded as he logged in and took back his access ID. "Anything I need to know about?"

"Sergeant Davis is out on maternity leave and Gunny Whitlock is at the dentist this morning, he'll be in after noon."

"When he comes in, let him know to stop by my office. I should be through reviewing the logs by then and he can do a walk around with me."

"Yes, First Sergeant. Oh, and Captain Hailey wants to see you," the Corporal said, suddenly remembering the message the Captain had left when he'd arrived a few minutes before.

"Glad you remembered that, Corporal," Victor said with a little grin before heading off to see the Captain.

"Welcome back, First Sergeant," Captain Hailey said when Victor entered his office. "Got new orders for you, came in while you were on leave."

"Yes, Sir," Victor said, fighting to hold his worries down, given that he'd just gotten orders to stay in London for the rest of his tour with the Marine Corps Embassy Security Group.

"They're a bit unusual, so much so that I called Eighth and I for clarification."

"Yes, Sir?"

"See, the tour you signed up for was supposed to be three-years, broken in two eighteen month assignments. Yet, these orders aren't sending you to another Embassy or Consulate, First Sergeant," Captain Hailey said.

"Where am I going then, Sir?" Victor asked.

"Right here, First Sergeant. You're still staying in London, running this detachment for me."

Victor caught sight of the grin on Captain Hailey's face at that.

"Oh, but that's not all, First Sergeant," Captain Hailey said. "There was something else added to your orders, something I need to talk with you about."

"Sir?" Victor asked.

"The CMC has granted you a waiver, First Sergeant. In as much as regulations pertaining to marriage of non-US citizens by members of the Marine Corps Embassy Security Guard exist, such regulations are waived with respect to First Sergeant Victor Galindez. There was also this with the orders."

Victor took the small envelope from Captain Hailey and proceeded to open it. He removed a smallish card and his eyes widened at the embossed front, with the Great Seal of the United States. He opened the card carefully, then read the handwritten message.

"First Sergeant Galindez, please accept Laura's and my best wishes on your impending marriage. President George W. Bush."

Victor was stunned, even after what he had seen and heard in the last few days. He, Victor Galindez, had just gotten a personal note from the President. He knew who was responsible for all of this, though he also knew that the old man had had some help along the way. Victor couldn't wait to get home that evening and tell Emily the news. It was only after that thought appeared that another did as well. How could he possibly explain this to her without disclosing her grandfather's secret?

Captain Hailey sat and waited, seeing that Victor was having some difficulty in processing what he'd just been told. Hell, he had had the orders for almost two days and he was still perplexed by them, so he could fully understand his First Sergeant's predicament. But this waiver also gave Captain Hailey cause for concern, which is why he needed to talk with Victor.

"First Sergeant, I have a favor I need to ask of you, a pretty big one," Captain Hailey said after a few moments. Seeing that he had Victor's attention, he continued. "I need you to keep your wedding plans, when you make them, as quiet as possible. Not that you shouldn't celebrate the fact that you're getting married, but because of the effect your marriage might have on the rest of the detachment."

"I understand, Sir. You're worried about one or two of them seeing me marrying Emily and going, 'Hey, First Sergeant Galindez married a Brit, why can't we?'" Victor said, nodding his head in agreement with the thought.

"Yeah, and I don't want to have to crack down on them over it, nor spend time explaining the fact that you have a waiver signed off on by the CMC and they don't. That would just open up a whole host of other questions."

"Trust me, Sir. Other than updating my official military personnel file and seeking dependent status for her, I intend to keep things as they are. Once we finalize things, I'll probably be requesting some leave for the wedding and honeymoon."

"Request the time and I'll make sure it gets approved. Heck, when I last looked, you were close to the 60 day cutoff before you took the week home, so you've got plenty of time accrued," Captain Hailey said.

"Thank you, Sir," Victor told him.

"Dismissed, First Sergeant."

Victor snapped to attention and braced for a moment before turning and exiting the office. He decided he'd take a walk around the building before going to his office, just to get an overall sense of how things were. Besides, he'd never exactly been fond of spending his time confined behind a desk when there was work to be done.


	6. Chapter 6

Grove End Road – London, England

1036 Greenwich/ 0536 Eastern

Harm sat at the desk in his home office, going through the mail that had accumulated while they had been visiting his grandmother. He quickly sorted through the various items, bills to one side and personal stuff to the other. The remainder went into the recycling box for later shredding. The bills he simply looked through, as most were set up for automatic payment out of his checking account. The few that weren't were marked, so that he could remember to write a check later.

The personal items included a couple of envelopes addressed to Mattie. He would include those in a care package to the teen and send it out in the next day or so. One of the others was from Meg Austin. After they had reconnected last year, they'd made a serious effort at staying in touch. This time, it was a postcard from the Outer Banks in North Carolina, where they were relaxing on the beach. Harm smiled at the picture on the front of the postcard, too. Evidently, Meg and Patty had also gone to Kitty Hawk, because the postcard showed the Wright Flyer that was displayed there.

A little cry emanated from the corner and Harm turned to see Jack was squirming around in his playpen. Then he saw the reason, as the little ball that the toddler had been playing with was now outside the walls of the enclosure. Harm reached over and picked the ball up, then handed it down to his son. Jack promptly pushed the ball away, giggling as he looked up at his father.

"Oh, so that was just to get my attention, was it?" Harm asked with a laugh in his voice, before bending down to pick up his son. Harm was watching Jack while Beth took care of loading the washing machine. She had also phoned in a large grocery order, to refill their almost empty refrigerator. Harm took his son with him as he left his office and went downstairs. He sat down on the couch and picked up a little picture book they had bought for Jack.

Beth came into the room to find the two of them like that, so she snuck off to get her camera before coming back. Taking care to be quiet, she managed to get several good pictures before either of them noticed her. Harm just smiled, knowing that those pictures would most likely find their way not only to their families, but also somehow end up making the rounds amongst their various friends. He could well remember similar pictures of Luke and Josh Pendry from years ago and the good natured teasing Luke had been put through as a result of them.

"What sounds good for lunch, Harm?" Beth asked.

"Do we have anything?" Harm asked back.

"Some canned soups and some lunch meats."

"Well, why don't we order something in, then? Chinese, pizza or something else?"

"Pizza sounds great. A veggie delight good with you?" Beth asked, knowing the answer as she saw Harm nodding his head. "Why don't you call and while you're doing that, I'll feed Jack."

Beth took Jack from her husband and carried him to the recliner, grabbing the burp rag that was kept next to it as she settled into the chair. Jack seemed to know what time it was as he started to squirm in the chair as Beth adjusted her clothing and revealed her breasts to the infant. Jack latched on almost instantly and Beth had to wiggle around to get his comfortably adjusted. She looked up then and saw Harm still hadn't moved, but was rather watching the scene with a look that screamed love and contentment. Well, that was as may be, but she was getting hungry and wanted to eat soon, so Beth glared at Harm until he got the message and went to get the phone.

Once he had placed the order, Harm came back into the room only to find Beth once again covered up and burping Jack. Still, he thought about how beautiful she had looked, how natural, as she had fed their son. Harm smiled at that, a smile that didn't go unnoticed by Beth.

"What are you thinking about now?" she asked, patiently.

"Just how beautiful you look," Harm answered honestly.

"Yeah, right. I'm wearing one of your old shirts, which on me looks more like a nightgown than a top. I've got no makeup on, my hair is a mess and I'm burping an infant, and you think I look beautiful?"

"Yes, I do. I think you look beautiful when you're asleep or when you're awake, whether you're dressed to go to an Embassy event or just for lounging around the house and honestly, makeup hides your beauty more than it reveals it, in my opinion. But just a moment ago, when you were feeding our son, I though you looked even more beautiful than ever."

"You're just saying that because you were looking at my breasts and not my face," Beth said with a teasing little laugh.

"Well, having a child did add a little something in that department," Harm said with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a grin, commenting on the slightly increased size of her chest since she'd had Jack.

"You're incorrigible, Mister."

Harm just laughed at that before being interrupted by a good sized burp from his son. The sound of the doorbell ended their conversation. Harm got up to answer it, grabbing some cash from the table near the door. He'd stashed a little money there for occasions like this, so that he wouldn't have to hunt down his wallet. Still, he thought it was a little early for the pizza delivery person to be here. Opening the door, he was surprised to find a handful of Marines standing outside.

"Captain Harmon Rabb?" the lead Marine said, a Captain by the railroad tracks on his collar points.

"Yes, Captain. How may I help you?" Harm asked.

"Captain Jackson, Sir. I have orders from Headquarters, USMC, to provide a guard detail to you and your family, Sir."

"How do you want to do this, Captain?"

"Why don't you and I step inside and we can cover your schedule, as well as your family's. Then, I'll figure out how to deploy my men, Sir."

Harm stepped out of the way, letting the Captain in. As he did so, he noticed the other Marines setting up something of a perimeter to the property. Harm led the way into the living room and introduced the Marine to his wife.

"I understand that you're also in the Navy, Ma'am. Assigned to the Embassy?" Captain Jackson asked, remembering the briefing he'd received before flying his men over. Given the nature of the assignment, he'd decided to lead the men rather than have the actual platoon leader in charge. Getting orders directly from the Assistant Commandant spoke to the importance of this mission.

"Yes, Captain," Beth said as she adjusted Jack in her lap. Harm had gone over the events that had occurred on his flight and Beth could see that someone was obviously concerned that it hadn't been a one-time event. She didn't believe it was either, nor did Harm.

"What time do you each report for duty, Captain?"

"Usually at 0730 or 0800," Harm told him.

"And do you go in together or separate?" Captain Jackson asked, remembering how close NAVFOREUR was to the Embassy.

"Together, unless one of us needed to leave earlier than the other."

"And your son, where do you take him for childcare, Sir?"

"The Embassy has a daycare facility, Captain," Beth told him.

"That's even better than I thought. Now, I was told you have a teenaged daughter, what about her?" Jackson asked.

"She's currently staying with a friend in Virginia," Harm replied.

"I'll have to talk with headquarters about her, Sir. They may want to assign a couple of Marines to her as well."

"I understand. If they do, I'll get you an address and call her to let her and the person she's staying with know to expect them."

"Thank you, Sir. As for here, the plan is very simple. 24 hour guard on the house, rotating shifts. It's warm enough that we can stay outside. As for your daily schedules, we've got a car for you both to take to and from work. A driver from the Marine guard detail at NAVFOREUR and one of my men riding security. We'll change up your schedule slightly, have you leave a little earlier and come home a little later, try to throw off anybody who might have been watching," Jackson said.

"How long will this go on for?" Beth asked.

"Until I'm ordered otherwise, Ma'am. I've got two squads here, with a third on call if this ends up dragging on or the situation changes. I plan on four man teams, working four hour shifts, here at the house. Once we get you to your offices, the Marines there will take over until it's time for you to leave. I respectfully request that you not leave during the day without notifying me first, Sir, Ma'am. That way I can get men there to cover you."

"Is all of this really necessary, Captain?" Harm asked, wondering if this might be overkill.

"You tell me, Sir. My briefing said something about a dogfight over Maryland that you were damned lucky to have won," Jackson said, fighting the grin that threatened, especially after seeing one on Lieutenant Commander Rabb's face.

"Touché, Captain. We'll do it your way."

"Thank you, Sir. Sir, Ma'am, I can't promise that someone won't get to you, I'm sure you know that. But I can promise that before they do, they'll have had to go through us to do so."

With that, Jackson stood and left the house. He exited just as the pizza delivery man was arriving and smiled slightly as one of his Marines checked the man before letting him pass. Going to them, he told two to take up station at the end of the drive, while the other two would patrol the inner yard around the house. To prevent boredom, they would switch positions halfway through their four hours, one at a time.

Harm had followed Jackson from the house and saw the delivery man. He also saw the four Marines deploy and sighed, thinking it was a hell of a thing that he needed protection in his own home. He also realized that he had no stomach for food now, as he carried the pizza inside and took it to the kitchen. When Beth came into the kitchen after laying Jack down for his nap, she found Harm standing by the sink, lost in thought.

"Brooding over it won't change this, Harm," Beth said as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

"It's just a hell of a thing, having to be guarded in my own home," Harm replied.

"Well, you tell me, which is a better option. Either we have the protection and this all turns out to be some deranged psychopath bend on a suicide mission or we don't have the protection and this turns out to be something even worse and they come after you again. Because, from what you told me on the Patrick Henry over all those days in the cockpit flying cap or those evenings in the wardroom just shooting the breeze, you've tangled with some nasty characters over the years. What if this was one of them coming after you again?"

"And I get that, here, in the head. But can't help but feel, I don't know, like…."

"Like you can take care of yourself? That you're the man and you should be responsible for protecting your family? Well, let me tell you what I feel, Mister. If anything were to happen to you, it would kill me. I love you, Harmon Rabb, and I'm not ready to lose you because you think you're Superman. Do you hear me, Mister?" Beth all but shouted.

"I know, darling, I know. That's why, not matter how much I might not like this, I'll do it," Harm said as he pulled Beth closer to him. "You and Mattie and Jack are my life."

The couple shared a soft, gentle kiss as they just held one another. Beth, when Harm had first told her about the attack on 'Sarah', had had much the same reaction that he had. Yet now, she couldn't help feeling a sense of relief and thankfulness, directed towards an unseen God for allowing her husband to live. She had meant every word she'd just told her husband. She planned on growing old with him and if that meant hiding behind the entire Marine Corps to achieve that, she was more than willing to do so.

Sarah MacKenzie's Home – near Honolulu, Hawaii

0123 Hawaiian/ 0623 Eastern/ 1123 Greenwich

Mac looked across the room at the clock on the wall and sighed. She still had at least another hour's worth of work to do on this brief before she could call it a night. Local residents were upset by some of the low flying done by Marine jets out of Kaneohe Bay and had filed a case before the Federal courts asking that the activity be restricted. Mac was tasked with the defense and she knew the arguments to make, it was just getting them into a cohesive and condensed version that she was struggling with.

A snore came from the corner of the room and Mac looked down affectionately at her Bulldog laying on his little bed. Her friend Andy Anderson had gotten her the dog when he found out that bulldog's were the Marine Corps mascot. When she saw the cute face, she'd instantly fallen in love and the feeling had been mutual. Now Max followed her practically everywhere, including for her daily runs, which were at a slower pace to accommodate the dog's trot.

Thinking of the dog caused her to reflect on her relationship with Andy. Even almost eighteen months after meeting, they still weren't ready to take the next step. He was still grieving the loss of his family and she was still putting her life back together after everything that had happened before moving here. Rather, they were each content for now with what they had, a strong friendship that was growing stronger by the day. They had dinner together two or three nights a week, usually at his house, followed by a movie or a game. She had also seen the effect she was having on him, as he became less closed off and more outgoing. He was even working again, helping a non-profit with fundraising efforts, using his old connections. She'd once asked what had made him choose that as his activity and he'd said it was something his late wife would have supported.

Getting up from the desk, she walked out of the bedroom and down the short hall to the living room, going through it to the kitchen. She filled a glass of water from the faucet and drank about half of it, before carrying the rest back to the bedroom that served as her home office and settling back in with the brief. The few moments were all the break she was going to give herself, at least until she finished what needed to be done. Then, she'd go to bed for a short rest before reporting for duty.

Central Intelligence Agency – Langley, Virginia

0934 Eastern/ 1434 Greenwich

Catherine Gale sat looking at the results for the investigation into the identity of the pilot of the downed aircraft. They had DNA, but no match. Fingerprints, by again, no match. The company that sold the F-86 was still searching for the records of the sale. In short, they were still nowhere at the moment. If results didn't start to come soon, she'd have to release some of the resources she'd appropriated for this, making even less likely that anything would be found.

A knock on the doorway to her office interrupted Catherine's thoughts, as one of the member of her team stuck their head in.

"Got something you should see," the man said.

"Here or your cubbyhole?" Catherine asked.

"Here will do fine."

Closing the door, he sat down in front of Catherine's desk and laid out a series of papers.

"We weren't getting anywhere with the pilot, so I played a hunch. The first three sheets are bank statements for the two days immediately before the attack as well as the day of the attack. One personal account for bin Aziz and two business accounts that he has control of. All have a ton of cash flowing through them," the man said.

"Well, his family is pretty well off," Catherine noted.

"Indeed, so well off that I doubt anyone noticed the one hundred thousand transferred from the corporate account of the family oil company to the private account of bin Aziz."

"Could be standard, his part of the profits or just his pay for being a good son."

"Could be, which is why I went back a year, looking for similar payouts. None for over twenty thousand and that was on his birthday last year," the man said, shaking off the comment.

"Alright, so it's unusual for him to get that type of payout, could it be for something else. A new car he bought, a family vacation he's paying for," Catherine said, still looking for holes in the theory her underling was presenting.

"Doubtful. The money went out of the account almost immediately and into a different account. From there, it was transferred twice more before ending up in a Swiss bank account that we haven't been able to crack yet."

"Keep working on that. If we're really lucky, the account belongs to our dead pilot," Catherine noted.

"I'll get the cyber team to focus on that account," the man said before gathering up the papers and leaving Catherine's office.

Catherine then pushed the Rabb matter aside. After all, it wasn't the only important thing she was currently working on and getting fixated on it could cause other things to get lost in the shuffle.

Grace Aviation – Blacksburg, Virginia

1026 Eastern/ 1526 Greenwich

Beth had called down to have 'Sarah' pushed out of the hanger for them before she and Mattie had left Strasburg. When they pulled up to the hanger, she saw that the mechanics were giving the plane a final wipe down after fueling her. Beth could also see the patches that had been put in for the bullet holes, as a repainting hadn't been done yet. She wondered what the teen's reaction would be to seeing those.

Mattie stepped out of the car and looked at 'Sarah'. She fully understood what the patches covered, yet she was trying to push the terror of that flight out of her mind. She knew she needed to do so, or she'd never be able to fly. So, she walked over to the old trainer and ran a hand along the side of the plane, nodding her head at the quality of the work done. Once she was painted, the damage would be largely invisible.

"So, Mattie, you remember what we covered concerning pre-flighting the plane?" Beth asked.

"Yes, Beth," Mattie said.

"Now, this is the practical. Where should we start?"

"At the nose and work our way around, ending at the spot we started from."

"Right, so watch me," Beth said as she went to the propeller and waited for Mattie to join her. Beth took her time, checking everything carefully before moving on to the next item. She also had a checklist that she was consulting, something she made sure the teen noticed. She also respected and trusted the mechanics working at Grace and knew Mattie did as well, but that didn't stop her from checking every last thing.

"So, what did you notice?" Beth asked, when they had finished.

"There's a lot to check," Mattie replied.

"There is. But that's part of the reason we have a checklist, in case we forget something. Anything else?"

"You checked the oil and gas, as well as all the lines on the engine."

"Right. Your engine fails up there and you're in a lot of trouble, so that's the number one item you check. Same with fuel, you run out up there and it's a major issue," Beth told her. "Now, we've done our preflight, what's next?"

"Plan the flight and fly the plan," Mattie said with a grin.

"Exactly. So, the plan for today is I'll handle the taxi and takeoff and then have you do some basic flight maneuvering. Then back here, where I'll land and taxi back to the hanger. Sound good?"

"No, Beth. What about weather, emergency plan for alternate airfields."

Beth smiled, happy that Mattie was using her lessons from yesterday to good effect. They need to check the weather before they could take off and Beth need to get her charts ready for the flight, so that if anything went wrong, she'd have what she needed up there. So, they went into the hanger and through to the office. Tom Boone was sitting there going over paperwork. The two women left him alone while Beth called for the weather, then located the charts she'd need for the flight and folded them so that they would fit on her kneeboard. Then she came up with a course and wrote it out on an index card for later use on the flight.

Mattie watched all of this with fascination. Her pilots had never done any of this when she'd been watching, which made her wonder if they didn't do it or they just did it elsewhere.

"Do all pilots need to do all of that?" Mattie asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"They should. Now, if you're just flying to Richmond, like you have every weekend for the last ten years, you probably know the course by heart. But the weather is essential. Without it, you don't know if you'll be fighting a headwind all the way to Richmond or if there's a nasty crosswind that will just drive you off course if you're not aware of it," Beth said, looking at her pupil.

"What about flying a crop duster?"

"Depends on where you're going. Local area, probably not. But if it's somewhere new or a little ways away, I would recommend it. The Admiral has all of the pilots doing flight plans, though. That way, if a plane is overdue, we have an idea of where to start looking."

Mattie just looked at Beth. An overdue aircraft could be a variety of things, from just late in getting back to being down somewhere. Yet, Beth had been casual when she'd brought it up. Mattie wondered if she could get that causal about the possible death of another pilot. Beth, in turn, could see the teen thinking and had a relatively good clue as to those thought. Well, it was something every pilot had to think about, in one manner or another. A plane going down wasn't just a machine. It was the people flying that plane and their lives that were important. As an old instructor of hers had once put it, machines are replaceable, people aren't.

"Alright, Mattie. Let's get out of here and on up into the air," Beth said, ending the moment

"Sounds good," Mattie said, a smile lighting her face.

When the two women were gone, Boone smiled and stood. He'd acted like he was going over paperwork, but in reality he was focused more on the two women than the contents of his desk. Now, he went to the window of the office and carefully looked outside, not wanting to be seen. He saw O'Neil strapping in, then a moment later the engine was started and the yellow trainer taxied away from his view. Boone figured he had a couple of hours before the plane would be taxing back to the hanger. Plenty of time to get some of this cleared up.

Guy's Hospital – London, England

1824 Greenwich/ 1324 Eastern

Sir Alistair sat patiently on the edge of the bed while an orderly removed the shoes he'd worn during his physical therapy. The therapist was standing behind the orderly, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. The left arm was almost back to normal, with some residual strength issues that needed to be addressed. As for the left leg, it had shown signs of improvement. They had managed to have Sir Alistair walk a half dozen steps down in the physical therapy department, with the aid of parallel bars to hold on to and some gentle encouragement as well.

"So, how soon do you think before I can go home?" Sir Alistair asked, hoping the answer would be tomorrow or, even better, now.

"That would be up to the doctor, Sir Alistair," the therapist told him.

"But certainly I can have someone come to my home and do this stuff to me."

"That is true, Sir. But the doctor makes the decision on when a patient leave and not the patient or the therapist."

By this time, the orderly was done removing the shoes and now Sir Alistair laid back on the bed, elevating the head so that he was more or less sitting. He couldn't escape the terrible dread that something was about to happen and he was powerless to prevent it, stuck here. A part of him wondered if it wasn't simply the fact that this was the longest he'd been away from his work in nearly fifteen years, dating back to the point of his retirement and his partial return. A different part, though, knew that it was a simple fact that bad things only seemed to happen when you weren't paying attention.

Michael could hear the conversation from his post out in the hall and he wondered how long it would be before the old man either went stir crazy or started asking him to organize a breakout. Sir Alistair was simply too independent minded to be stuck in a hospital bed for a prolonged period of time. The sound of the elevator arriving on the floor caused him to look down the hall and a slight smile came to his face as he saw something that would improve his boss' mood.

Emily had stopped by the Embassy on her way here from work and picked up Victor as he was getting off duty. The guards were used to seeing her waiting by now and none were certainly foolish enough to say anything in the First Sergeant's hearing about any amusement they got from the sight. They'd already gotten an object lesson in that regard when Victor had overheard a Sergeant comment if the First Sergeant's daughter would be stopping by to see Daddy today. The kid had been reassigned almost immediately, with a note on his record recommending he not be reassigned to the Marine Corps Embassy Security Group. The last anyone had heard, the Sergeant was assigned to the guard force at NAS Keflavik in Iceland.

Now that they were in a semi-private setting, the couple was holding hands and Emily had a brilliant smile on her face. Michael could also see that Victor had a smudge of lipstick that he resisted his attempts to remove. Michael stood up as they got closer,

"Good evening, Michael. How are you?" Emily asked.

"I'm very good, Miss. How are you and the First Sergeant," Michael said.

"Kindly stop delaying my visitors, Michael," came Sir Alistair's voice through the doorway, bringing a chuckle from the trio, along with a long suffering smile from the bodyguard. The therapist and his orderly exited the room, so that the visitors could go in. The therapist looked relieved to have escaped.

"Grandfather, behave."

"Rubbish. I haven't seen you in a couple of days and I want to see you."

"That's as may be, but it wouldn't exactly be polite of me to act as if Michael is a piece of furniture or a lump of coal. Now would it?" Emily asked, glaring at her grandfather as she approached the bed.

"No, it wouldn't," Sir Alistair said.

"So, with that established, how are you today?"

"Better. Now, if I can just convince the doctor of that fact, I'll be able to go home. How about you two? Anything wild and exciting happen since I last saw you?"

"Not to me," Emily said. "I've been stuck getting paperwork caught up since I returned from holiday. Victor, though, says he has a spot of news. The evil man wouldn't tell me a word, though. Said he wanted to share it with us together."

"Well, then, Victor. What new thing has happened with you?"

"I got new orders today, in place of my original orders to stay in London," Victor said, before wishing he'd worded it slightly better as he saw the sadness ripple across Emily's face as it occurred to her that Victor might be leaving England and her. So, he rushed to spit out the next part. "I'm still going to be stationed here at the Embassy, Emily. The orders were amended to include a waiver, from the Commandant of the Marine Corps himself, allowing us to be married despite the regulations. The orders were accompanied by a note from the President, congratulating us on our coming wedding."

"Oh my word!"

"My thoughts exactly," Sir Alistair said, looking at his granddaughter and smiling. Then he saw Victor's eye on him and dripped his head in a brief nod. Emily, however, was a trained investigator and despite the emotions coursing through her at the moment, she caught that little gesture.

"What is going on?" Emily asked, somewhat forcefully.

"I haven't the slightest idea whatever as to what you are referring to, child."

"Grandfather, don't lie to me. Something is going on and I fully intend to get to the bottom of it."

Victor started to edge towards the doorway, not to flee but to close it before the argument attracted attention.

"Don't you move, Victor Galindez," Emily snapped, spinning towards him. "By the Lord God, before we leave this room, I will know what is going on between the two of you. Let's start with you, Grandfather."

Sir Alistair was caught, damned if he did and damned if he didn't. In his heart of hearts, he knew if he didn't come clean tonight, it would only make things worse when she eventually learned the truth. And now that she was on the scent, he very much doubted that anything he could say would get her off it. That was part of what made her such a great police officer. So, he steeled himself and decided it was time to come clean to her.

"Sit down, Emily. You as well, Victor. Michael, step outside and close the door behind you. I don't want to be disturbed by anyone other than her Majesty or the Prime Minister," Sir Alistair commanded. Once all was arranged, he looked at his granddaughter. "I need you to promise me that you'll listen to when I say that I never wanted to hurt you, child."

"Get on with it, Grandfather. You've got me wondering if you're some sort of criminal mastermind."

"Hardly, my dear. I am, however, not the humble civil servant you and the rest of the family believe me to be. I have had the honor of serving as a member of the SIS. I headed that organization from 1981 until 1987. That was the work for which I was knighted, Emily. Not for being a diplomat."

"You lied to us, all of us. All my life, you've lied," Emily said, a stunned look on her face.

"No, Emily. Your grandmother knew. As for your father, he simply never asked and I never offered. He knew I worked for the Foreign Office and came to the conclusion that I was a diplomat or a civil servant."

Emily sat back in her chair and tried to absorb what she'd learned. Yet, as she thought about it, a number of things suddenly made much more sense. Including the fact that she'd learn Harrison Kershaw was the Deputy Director of the American CIA. Then there was Michael, whose presence outside the room was more the act of a bodyguard then a driver. Still, one thing nagged at her and she turned to Victor.

"You knew?"

"I guessed, a couple of days ago. Your grandfather, when I confronted him, asked me to keep the secret," Victor replied, not liking the look on her face.

"You and I, Victor Galindez, are going to have a long talk about who your first loyalty should be to. In case you want a hint, the word rhymes with life," Emily said.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Does that mean, you're not going to be getting married," Sir Alistair said, teasingly. He could see the twinkle of humor in his granddaughter's eye.

"I suppose we must, after all the trouble that been gone to on our behalf."

Victor finally caught the humor of the moment and shared the laughter that began with Emily and Sir Alistair. For his part, Sir Alistair was happy that his granddaughter seemed to have taken the whole thing well. At least she was still smiling. What he didn't know was that she had taken things well, because she loved her grandfather. Nothing he could have confessed to would have really changed that, apart from maybe being an ax murderer or a Nazi war criminal.


	7. Chapter 7

A flat – Leeds, England

2032 Greenwich/ 1532 Eastern

The entire group was assembled for the final time, having done the last prayer of the night together. They were as one and the leader could sense the resolve of the group. He wasn't going to give any sort of pep talk, rather he decided to speak from the heart.

"My brothers, words cannot describe the feelings that are coursing through my heart. The non-believers need tens of thousands to invade our homelands, yet look at us. Less than a dozen of the faithful and yet we will strike a blow equal to ten times our small numbers. We will give these people a lesson, teaching them something of the fear our people feel every day as they wait for the next western air strike to destroy their village, their school, their mosque. When we are done, these people will know fear," the leader said.

The rest of the group sat there nodding their heads, taking additional strength in the words. The time for planning was over and overthinking something was often a bad idea. Now, it was time to prepare their hearts and minds for the journey ahead. In the early morning, they would catch a train into London and then disburse to their separate targets. Knowing the need to secrecy and that a group would be much easier to pick out than a single individual, this would be the last time they were together. The men all shared embraces, as well as with their leader, before going to bed.

Finally, it was only Samir and the leader who remained in the living room. Samir had been concerned with the new information about his target and wanted to go back over the plan. The leader saw this and sat down beside the man.

"What is it, Samir?"

"I don't like this change. The man has never had guards before, why suddenly now?" Samir asked.

"I don't have any information for you, my friend. Perhaps something unrelated to us happened, one of those anti-military groups making threats or something else," the leader said.

"It complicates things. I can't be sure I will get close enough."

"You can if you believe you can. You are a simple messenger delivering a priority package for a Mister Rabb. If you're stopped, that's what you tell them. Not to mention, if our timing is correct, he'll just be leaving for work and out in the open."

"Then I shall take my leave, Sir," Samir said, reflecting on the fact that in order for him to keep his appointed rendezvous, he couldn't take the first train in the morning. Rabb left for work well before that train arrived in London. Rather, he would go now and stay at another flat they had in the city.

The leader watched Samir collect his package and leave. What did you say to a man going off to his death, if everything went as planned? Certainly any words at this point were beyond meaningless and actually had the potential to be insulting. So, the leader decided to remain silent and let the moment have dignity, just as he would when the others left in the morning.

July 7, 2005

Grove End Road – London, England

0543 Greenwich/ 0043 Eastern

Harm awoke to the sound of Jack crying from the nursery. Getting up, he walked to the room and lifted his son from the crib. He carried the boy over to the changing table and replaced the soiled diaper with a fresh one, then took him downstairs. In the kitchen, he warmed up a bottle for Jack while also starting the coffee machine for himself and Beth. The doctor had given her the all-clear on that on Tuesday, though she did recommend moderation.

The bottle was done first, so Harm sat down with Jack and a clean burp rag. The little boy, however, was deciding to be a little fussy this morning and kept turning his head away from the approaching object. Harm had to chuckle a little at that, before finally getting the nipple into the mouth. Once he realized what it was, however, Jack attacked his meal with a vengeance, swiftly draining half the bottle. Here, Harm paused the feeding for the ritual burping, which Jack delivered with vigor, before letting him have the rest of the bottle's contents.

With the meal done, Jack was content to sit in his highchair and let Harm have a cup of coffee. Then it was back upstairs, where he found Beth still asleep. Gently nudging her, Harm spoke softly.

"Time to wake up, darling."

"Don't want to," Beth said back.

"Sorry, but you have to. We both have to report back to duty today and it would be a bad idea to report in late," Harm told her.

"Oh, why do you have to be so rational? Besides, I was just in the middle of a perfect dream."

"And what was that?"

"I don't share my dreams for free," Beth said as she sat up, a smile on her face. "But, be a good boy today and I'll be more than happy to show you tonight after Jack's asleep."

Harm just grinned at her, arching an eyebrow. Then he remembered what he'd come in here for.

"So, you want to watch Jack while I shower and then I'll watch him while you shower," Harm said.

"Sounds like that would work."

Harm handed Jack over to Beth before stripping down and making for the bath. A brisk shower later and he was back to change places with Beth. Jack laid peacefully on the bed while Harm toweled dry and got dressed. He then took his son downstairs and got started on breakfast. The groceries had been delivered last night, with the Marines keeping a watchful eye on the delivery man the entire time he was here. So now, they had a good selection, though Harm decided to go with the old standby of eggs and potatoes, in this case hash browns.

Everything was ready when Beth made her appearance. The pair ate in silence, just enjoying the time together without the need for words. Beth did, however, place her free hand atop Harm's and give it a little caress. When the meal was done, the dishes were placed in the dishwasher and then it was time for them to be underway. Harm collected his and Beth's briefcases while she handled the infant and his diaper bag.

Stepping outside, Harm saw that the car was parked at the end of the drive. The Marines evidently hadn't liked the potential bottleneck that the layout of the walls created and had elected to have the car out on the street rather than up by the house. Harm nodded to the two guards near the house, who had come up when they heard the front door opening.

"Good morning, Captain," said a Staff Sergeant. "The car is ready, Sir."

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant," Harm said with a nod to the other Marine, acknowledging him as well.

Samir was just turning onto Grove End road from Hall Road. He could see the car parked across the drive to his target's home, as well as the two Marines standing near it. Slowing his motorcycle, he looked for a spot to stop. The Marines also saw him and the one on the far side of the car moved to join his partner when they saw the motorcycle stop a couple of doors down. Both of the Marines were relatively young, but not inexperienced. One had served a tour in Afghanistan and the other in Iraq. Yet, neither was exactly trained for the mission they had been given nor were there any clear rules on engagement for them.

Samir saw the pair of them come together and a small doubt tried to enter his mind, yet the words of his leader came back to him. He was just a simple messenger delivering a package, so he kept to his pace. One of the Marines brought a radio to his lips, alerting the team to a possible threat.

"Stop right there, Sir," the older of the two Marines called.

"Excuse me?" Samir called back in a questioning manner as he moved another step closer.

"Sir, stop immediately!"

"What is the trouble? I have a package for a Mister Rabb. I tried to deliver the other day but there was no answer and it must be signed for."

The older of the two Marines out front wasn't liking this. Something just didn't sit right with him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then it clicked and he reached for his pistol. The other Marine, seeing the move, also drew his sidearm.

"Let me see your hands, Sir. Hands, now!" the Marine shouted, aiming for a head shot. He could see Samir's eyes flicker and wondered what the man was thinking. He opened his mouth to shout again, when he saw something that froze his blood. Samir smiled. It was to be the last thing either Marine saw as the next moment, the bomb exploded.

The blast rippled through the air, setting off car alarms throughout the area. Yet, the damage was relatively mild. A few people out already on their way to work were injured by the blast, as debris flew through the air. But the only people killed were the two Marines outside the walls, Samir and the driver of the motor pool car assigned to the Rabbs that morning.

The Marines inside the yard had heard the warning and elected not to take any chances. They had quickly hustled the Rabbs back into the house and out through the rear. The group then moved through the property behind theirs and on out to Circus Road. The Marines hustled the Rabbs into the first cab that came along with instructions to take them all to the Embassy. They were just clearing the area when the bomb went off.

Harm wrapped his arm around Beth and pulled her close, disregarding the presence of the two Marines as he held her. He could feel her gently shaking, or was it him, he wondered. His mind started playing the "if only" game and he had to consciously force it to stop. Thinking about things like that wouldn't help matters and would ultimately only serve to provide further stress to him. Instead, he choose to thank God that they were alive and unhurt, knowing instinctively that the same was not likely to be true of the Marines they'd left behind.

The drive to the Embassy was mercifully short, though the Marines hustled the pair of them not into that building but rather NAVFOREUR across the street. The Marine guards on duty saw the expressions on the faces of their fellow Marines and instantly passed the party upstairs, where Harm took over. He had them get off on the floor for his office and lead the way through. The Marines stopped at the outer office and took up a defensive post, while Harm and Beth went inside with a bawling Jack.

"Admiral Kieso, please. This is Captain Rabb, the FJA," Harm announced after he dialed the correct extension from his desk.

"This is Kieso, Captain. What's got you hopping so early in the day?" Admiral Kieso asked.

"There was an attempt on my life, about fifteen minutes ago at my residence, Sir."

"What sort of attempt, Captain?"

"A bombing, Sir. The exact details are unknown, however it was timed to coincide with my usual departure time in the mornings," Harm told him.

"Alright, I assume you still have the security detail that was assigned to you by SECNAV?" Kieso asked.

"Two of them, Sir. The other two most likely were killed or wounded in the attack. When it started, our guards got us out of there via the rear of the house."

"Good. I want you and anyone else who was with you to write out statements. Captain Pratt will be by to collect them. Meanwhile, I'll have the unpleasant task of letting the proper authorities know. I doubt we'll be able to conceal this from the press, so expect to get inundated with requests for interviews. I'll have our PAO try to handle as many as he can."

"Understood, Sir," Harm said.

"Once you're done with the statements, I would suggest finding somewhere else to stay. Somehow, I don't think your present residence is secure," Admiral Kieso said before hanging up the telephone.

Harm then took Jack from Beth, so that she could report in to her commanding officer. Then came the task of them each writing their statements. To this end, Beth went out into the outer office area and appropriated a desk and computer. That way, they could both be working on their statements, rather than one having to wait until the other was finished.

The door to the outer office opened a half hour later and in came Captain Jackson and a dozen additional Marines. Jackson quickly deployed his men to cover all of the exit points from the offices before going over to the two enlisted men posted outside Harm's office. He replaced them with two new men, then had them sit down and begin working on their own statements.

The London Underground – London, England

0841 Greenwich/ 0341 Eastern

At various points along the London transport system, members of the cell were moving into place. They had left Leeds early that morning, armed with their backpacks filled with homemade explosive devices. When their train arrived at Kings Cross, it was nearly 0740. None of the men acknowledged the others as they made their way through the station and onward towards their targets.

Now, three of the men were boarding various underground trains, beginning the final steps of their journey. The fourth was quietly waiting his turn, waiting for the other three to do their parts. His was to be the most public of the four, not realizing that Samir had already achieved that task. At 0850, as one of the trains was leaving its station and the other two were between stations, the men detonated their devices.

The initial reports were confusing, in that multiple reports came in at the same time. This led to first responders initially believing that they were facing more bombings than was actually the case. Additionally, what the cause of the explosions was was also unclear. It would take many hours to sort the entire thing out, in addition to the other attacks that day, for the fourth terrorist completed his attack at 0947 on a bus filled with persons who might normally have traveled by other routes but who found themselves on that particular bus do to the earlier attacks. With all the other news, it was easy for the men of SIS and Scotland Yard's Special Branch to spin the explosion outside the Rabb home as being a terrorist whose device prematurely detonated and therefore not worthy of extended mention.

Guy's Hospital – London, England

1010 Greenwich/ 0610 Eastern

Sir Alistair had tears rolling down his cheeks as he handed the cell phone back to Michael. A feeling of such utter failure washed over him, followed by a tidal wave of anger. He could only reflect that his body could not have picked a worse time to fail him than it did. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before looking at Michael. The ice in the old man's eyes made Michael take a step backwards, for that look had never, in all the years he'd been with Sir Alistair, been directed at him.

"Would you kindly asked the Doctor to join me?" Sir Alistair asked, with a level of courtesy to his voice that seemed almost contrary to his demeanor.

"Yes, Sir," Michael said as he fled the room, to return a moment later with Doctor Schulte.

"You wished to see me, Sir Alistair?" Doctor Schulte asked.

"Yes, Doctor. I would greatly appreciate you signing whatever needs to be signed so that I might be released today."

"Sir Alistair, that is simply not possible. You still need rest and therapy, otherwise you risk another attack, maybe even a full stroke."

"Doctor, I am well aware of the risk involved in what I am asking of you. Now, let me be blunt. This morning, our nation was attacked, through multiple bombings. I fully believe that, once the initial investigating is done, it will be concluded that these bombings are the work of terrorists. A committee will be formed with the goal for finding those responsible and bringing them to justice," Sir Alistair said.

"That may well be, but it still does not give me any reason to go against the best possible advice and keep you here, Sir," Doctor Schulte said.

"My dear Doctor. I can't do the things necessary to protect this country if I am confined to a hospital bed. I need to go home, so that I can reach out to various people."

"Sir Alistair, if it is telephoning them, we have a telephone right there for you to use."

"Good God, man. I have no intention of having the sort of conversations I need to undertake occur on a public telephone," Sir Alistair said. "Especially one located in such a large facility as this, where who knows who might be listening in. Now, I am going home. As for physical therapy, I can hire someone to come in and attend to that. I can also hire a home nurse, if you believe that is justified. But, I repeat, I AM GOING HOME!"

Doctor Schulte finally heard the steel in the voice of Sir Alistair and realized that nothing short of strapping the man to the bed was going to keep in here. So, he left the hospital room to begin making the necessary arrangements. Still, he felt this was a bad idea and just hoped the end result wasn't Sir Alistair's death.

Once the Doctor was gone, Sir Alistair had Michael assist him in getting dressed. A sharp black suit and pressed white shirt, along with a blood red tie, black socks and black wingtip shoes. The pants were the hardest, as his left leg still wasn't capable of much. By the time he was fully dressed, the Doctor had returned, followed by an orderly pushing a wheelchair. Sir Alistair grunted at that, but complied with the implicit order that he get in it.

"Here's the telephone number for your therapist, she'll be expecting your call. Also, this is the number to a nursing agency, specializing in difficult patients," Doctor Schulte said with a tight smile.

"Doctor, you wouldn't want me to get difficult, trust me," Sir Alistair said grimly.

"I have some prescriptions here for you, to try and prevent a major stroke. I cannot stress how important it is for you to take these."

"As I believe I told you before, Doctor, I am not an imbecile. I also have no intention of returning here anytime soon because of something as stupid as not taking a medication."

"Then, all I can say is, good luck," Doctor Schulte said before stalking off.

Sir Alistair watched Michael leave the room and knew he was going to pull the car around to the front of the hospital. The orderly pushed the wheelchair slowly down the hall to the elevators. While they waited for one, the man hummed a tune that started to get on Sir Alistair's nerves, for it sounded like a funeral march to him. So, he focused his thoughts inward, starting to lay out a plan of attack for his own inquires.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was a mercifully short journey down to the ground floor and on out to the car. Michael had the rear door opened before the wheelchair was even halfway to the vehicle and helped get Sir Alistair settled into the car. Then he moved to the driver's seat and drove off towards Sir Alistair's house.

"Your cane is next to you, Sir," Michael told him, as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Thank you, Michael," Sir Alistair said, as he took hold of the old cane sword. He gently twisted the handle and pulled the blade out of concealment for a moment, pleased to see it was still clean and sharp.

Michael turned on the car's audio system, selecting a compact disk that he knew Sir Alistair enjoyed. As the classical music began to play, he caught a slight smile play across his boss' features. It also served to keep them from having to listen to the radio, which had been playing when Michael retrieved the car from its parking spot. The station had been nothing but talk about the reports coming in of explosions and he knew his boss hated listening to what was essentially information by rumor, without any real facts tied to it.

When they arrived at the house, Michael helped Sir Alistair up the stairs to the door and then on up to his study. Sir Alistair sat down behind his desk with a sigh of fatigue, which Michael went to the door and closed it. Sir Alistair grabbed the telephone and pressed an unmarked button, activating the telephone's security features. Then he dialed and waited for the other end to be answered.

"As-salāmu ʿalayka, Sir Alistair," came a pleasant sounding voice.

"As-salāmu ʿalayka, Faisal," Sir Alistair replied, exchanging greeting with his old friend.

"I've been trying to reach you for the last few days, my friend."

"A thousand apologies. Unfortunately, I was hospitalized for a few days and just got home today."

"I trust that you are well now. I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose them," Faisal said.

"I'm better than I was. Still, I think time is beginning to catch us with me," Sir Alistair replied.

"I hope not. I still want you to come visit this winter, see my new toy."

"What did you find now, old friend. Another classic automobile you simply couldn't live without."

"You mock me, yet we each have our passions. Yours are all those secrets you've collected and mine are these magnificent machines," Faisal said with a smile.

"You're quite correct, as usual. I've just never understood your passion, while you've long understood mine," Sir Alistair responded.

"Then you must come and visit, so I can try once again to properly educate you on the beauty of these works of art."

"It would be my honor, as long as you're not planning another trip out into the Empty Quarter for us."

The two men shared a laugh at that, remembering the last time Sir Alistair had visited. Faisal had organized a trip for them, by light aircraft. But the pilot had misjudged things badly and they ended up flying through the edges of a sandstorm. Though they had made it back safely, the trip had been a nightmare for both of them, yet had also served to further cement their friendship.

"No, no trips like that. We old men need to let younger men take those kinds of risks while we enjoy the fruits of our labors," Faisal said. "Ah, it is most good to hear your voice, my friend."

"I enjoy talking with you as well, old friend," Sir Alistair said.

"Still, I have something I need to talk with you about. That is why I was trying to call you. It concerns Abdullah bin Aziz."

"Ah, and how is Abdullah these days?"

"Most strange, actually. Most strange indeed. Like, how do you say, a cat on a hot stove," Faisal said. "Abdullah has always been praised for his ability to show little in the way of emotion, yet this week he's been anxious, very anxious."

"That is strange, Faisal. I wonder if something is the matter with him," Sir Alistair said.

"No, definitely not. My son, Amar, is his physician. He told me that Abdullah, other than slight high blood pressure, is in excellent condition for a man of his age."

"That is interesting to know, my friend. Thank you and your son as well."

"My pleasure, old friend. I shall call you if I hear anything more that might be a use," Faisal said. "Peace be with you."

"Peace be with you," Sir Alistair replied before hanging up the phone. Faisal and his extended family never ceased to amaze him. It had been the man's grandson who provided the tip about bin Aziz traveling through London to New York. Another son worked for the bin Aziz Oil Company and had provided information about Abdullah's position in the company and the money he and others in the family had syphoned from the company for Al Qaeda.

The phone had barely been back in the cradle when it rang. Seeing the blinking light, he knew it was on his private line, yet the secure light was out. Alistair raised an eyebrow at that before picking up the telephone.

"Good morning, Sir Alistair," came a voice he instantly recognized as his source within Al Jazeera.

"Good afternoon to you, Ahmed," Sir Alistair said. "How are you today?"

"Very busy, which is why I called. One of our reporters was just provided with a tape, from a contact with Al Qaeda."

"Ah, and what does this tape show, my friend."

"It shows little, other than a familiar face, Sadik Fahd. However, he's claiming responsibility for a series of attack launched in London today," Ahmed said.

"And when it this masterpiece supposed to be aired?" Sir Alistair asked, surprised that the man would be so bold as to announce something like this without some sort of confirmation that the attacks had been successful.

"It's not, not until the West, meaning your country since the attacks happened there, announce that the attacks actually occurred. Then, we're supposed to put this out."

Perhaps Sadik wasn't as dumb as he'd thought a second ago.

"Can you get me a copy of the recording?"

"It will be difficult," Ahmed replied, hesitating slightly.

"More difficult than the tape of Osama you get for me in 1998?" Sir Alistair asked, a smile in his voice. That had been Ahmed's first little job for him and the young man had been nervous. "I'm not asking for the actual tape, just a copy of it, so I can go over it."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Ahmed. That's all I can ask."

Ahmed hung up then, as Sir Alistair had just begun to hear voices in the background. Obviously the young man was worried about getting caught passing on information. Smart. Picking up the telephone, he called C to let him know what he had learned. C, in turn, talked to Sir Alistair about where things stood with the investigation into the man who had been the recipient of bin Aziz's brush pass. The name they had come up with, from various sources, was Anwar Taleb. He was Egyptian, approximately fifty years old and a member of the Muslim Brotherhood as well as being a known associate of Al Qaeda from his time in Afghanistan in the early 1980s. He was now more of a leader than a foot soldier and that meant the possibility existed that he wasn't one of the deceased bombers. If that was true, then he could be found and talked to, Alistair thought with a grim smile, thinking there were scores of people who probably wanted some words with the man after today.

"So, you believe that bin Aziz passed the orders to this Taleb?" Sir Alistair asked.

"I think we have to make that assumption, given what has occurred today. Also, there was an attempt on an American, the Force Judge Advocate of their naval forces in Europe. A Captain Harmon Rabb," C told him.

"Tied to this how?"

"Unknown at the moment, but considering it was also a bomb, we do have to consider the fact that it is."

"Undoubtedly, but I do think I should talk with this Captain Rabb. See if we might get a clearer understanding of where things stand. The biggest question I have is if you're capable of the attacks we've seen today, why waste your attempt on a single man? Unless there is something special about this individual, something that makes him worthy of the effort expended," Sir Alistair said.

"I'll convey your request to the Americans," C said.

"I'll call Kershaw and see if he might be able to speed things along. He should be most cooperative, given the attacks today."

"That sounds fine, Sir Alistair. Thank you."

"Don't thank me until I achieve some results, C. We're in a race and I fear we're rather behind the other runner, so I need to find a way for us to catch up," Sir Alistair said. "Good day."

Sir Alistair hung up the telephone and then dialed again, calling up Deputy Director Kershaw. Filling him in on the events as he understood them, he asked his friend to use his influence to have Captain Rabb stop by and see him. Kershaw didn't hesitate and said he would get on it immediately. News of the attack on Rabb hadn't reached him yet, but now that it had, it put the other attack into perspective. He decided that he would send Sir Alistair a copy of their work on that attack and see if he could pick out anything his team had missed. It would also help him when he talked to Rabb.

Two attacks in under a week was too much for Kershaw to put down to coincidence. Someone was deliberately targeting the naval officer and he wanted to know who and why.

Sir Alistair Wallace's Residence – London, England

1539 Greenwich/ 1039 Eastern

Harm and Beth got out of the car, Jack in his mother's arms. The Marine assigned for their security followed them to the door and watched them enter the brick townhouse, before resuming his post in the automobile. Michael, who had answered the door, took both of their covers and placed them on a table near the door before escorting them upstairs to the first floor, where Sir Alistair was sitting in his study. The man behind the desk was certainly not the image that Harm had had in mind when he'd been told to see a senior member of the British intelligence community about the attack that had taken place that morning.

Sir Alistair smiled as he rose from his seat and, using the cane, came from behind the desk. Harm could see the man was moving with some difficulty and he took a step forward to assist him. However, Sir Alistair waved him off as he took his time, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other.

"Captain Rabb, a pleasure to meet you. And you as well, Commander," Sir Alistair said with a smile, taking in the sight of the infant in Beth's arms. "Your son, I presume?"

"Yes, he is, Sir," Harm said.

"And what's his name, might I ask."

"It's John Francis Rabb," Beth said. "We call him Jack."

"Why, hello Jack," Sir Alistair said with a gentle smile and soft tone, drawing little Jack to look over at him. "My name is Alistair."

Beth and Harm watched the older man as he smiled at their son, drawing a return smile from the infant. Yet, they were also impressed that Alistair didn't reach for Jack, not even to touch his face or hair. After a moment, Sir Alistair motioned the family to join him on the other side of the room, where a comfortable seating area was arranged. Harm and Beth took the small couch, while Sir Alistair settled into a leather club chair.

"I know I have you at something of a disadvantage, for I know something of both of you whilst you know absolutely nothing of me, other than that you needed to come see me. So, let me start by introducing myself. I am Sir Alistair Wallace, former head of the British Secret Intelligence Service, also known as SIS or MI-6. I still help out on an as-needed basis, including the attacks that took place this morning. That is where you come in, Captain. I believe that the attack on you was part of this operation, yet it makes no sense to me for the rewards of killing two American naval officers just doesn't measure up to the effects of using that bomb on another underground train or one of our buses."

"I don't know how much help we'll be, Sir. Beth and I were just leaving when the Marines assigned to guard us called a warning and we were hustled back through the house and on out the back. We never saw the bomber, nor heard him. Just the explosion as we were leaving the area," Harm said.

"My good Captain, I believe that you know more than that. I was also informed that there was a previous attack on you this week, an honest-to-goodness dogfight over Maryland. That is one rather large coincidence and I must say, I don't believe in those. What I need to discover is why anyone would be hunting you," Sir Alistair said.

"I've been involved in quite a few adventures in my career, Sir, and have managed to upset a good number of people."

"Any of them Islamic fundamentalists of the terrorist persuasion?"

"Sadik Fahd," Harm said after a moment. "I was involved in a CIA operation against him in Paraguay, during which over 100 Stinger missiles were destroyed and he narrowly escaped from us. My former partner when I was assigned to the Navy's JAG Headquarters, Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, had been detailed to pose as the pregnant wife of an undercover CIA officer. When they broke contact, I resigned my commission to go after them."

"Ah, that explains much," Sir Alistair said, as the pieces started to fall into place. "Sadik Fahd is a nasty piece of work, even for a terrorist. And the fact that he was bested by you, a lawyer, oh how that must have wounded his pride. That's not even mentioning the loss of those missiles, not just for the money Al Qaeda must have spent to acquire them but also the threat those missiles would have posed to the Western world."

"Then you believe Sadik is behind these attacks?"

"I do. And it would have been easy, once he discovered you were in London, to have simply added you as a target to any plot he may have been constructing. Most likely, even if the attack had been successful, the press never would have guessed at you being a target and would have put it down to a premature detonation. Which, mind you, works very well for us, too."

"How's that, Sir?" Harm asked.

"Well, as it stands, there will be some panic after these attacks, despite all manner of calls for calm. Yet, could you imagine the terror if people thought Al Qaeda was targeting them in their own homes?" Sir Alistair asked with a shake of his head. "Now, that would be terrifying."

Beth and Harm exchanged a glance at that, one that Sir Alistair noticed and correctly guessed was related to his last words. Both of the Rabbs were definitely thinking about how very bad the day could have gone, in fact would have gone but for the presence of the Marine guards. Beth pulled Jack a little closer to her as the thought of all she could have lost fully struck her for the first time that day. Up until this point, she'd managed to push it aside as she dealt with writing her report on the attack and taking care of Jack. Now it all started to come out as she started to cry softly.

Harm saw this and wrapped his arms around his wife and son, wanting to comfort her. The position was made awkward by Jack being between them, so that Harm couldn't pull Beth fully to him. Also, the crying of his mother was beginning to upset Jack. Fortunately, Sir Alistair recognized this and gently took the little boy from Beth's arms, so that Harm and she could fully embrace. With practice born of years as both a father and grandfather, he gently cradled Jack and turned him so that he was face to face. Then Sir Alistair began making funny faces at the little boy, which both attracted the child's attention and got him to start smiling. Michael was smiling as well, from his post in the corner, enjoying seeing this side of his boss.

Finally, the tears stopped and Beth was able to compose herself, as was Harm. They turned to find Jack giggling as Sir Alistair was playing peep-a-boo with the child. Beth went to take Jack, who cried briefly until she turned him and he saw her face. Then he began smiling again.

"Thank you," Beth said to Sir Alistair.

"My pleasure," Sir Alistair said. "It felt good to hold a child again."

"Did you have any other questions for us?" Harm asked.

"No. Not at the moment, at least."

"Then, if you'll excuse us, we need to go out to RAF West Ruislip and get settled into the guest quarters there."

"Of course. I would however urge caution, Captain. I can't help but wonder how the opposition knew where you were going to be when they attacked your plane and then knew where you lived here," Sir Alistair said. "I'll mention my thoughts when I talk with Director Kershaw later."

"Well, that's certainly a pleasant enough thought to leave on. One of our own is a spy for Al Qaeda," Harm said as he and Beth stood.

"If so, then Al Qaeda made a rather large mistake in using the information that they are getting from that agent. It should be relatively easy to come up with a list of those who could know about both your address here and your leave information. Your flight, did you file a flight plan with the FAA?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, that does add more people, but still, it gives us another place to go looking," Sir Alistair said as he stood and shook hands with Harm and Beth, giving another smile to Jack as well before the Rabbs left.

Michael escorted the family downstairs and on out to their car, getting them to the door before the Marine guard could even get out of his seat. Michael waited until the car drove off before going back inside. Back in the study, Sir Alistair went to one of the bookshelves and pulled away a false front, revealing a sophisticated recording system. He stopped the recording and rewound it to the point where the interview had started, then pressed play. He then settled back into his seat behind the desk as he listened to the words once again, searching for anything he might have missed the first time. He was also making notes of the whole thing, which he would include when he sent copies of the tape to both SIS and CIA. Suitably edited, of course. Sir Alistair didn't believe they needed to hear anything not related to the attacks and most certainly not the sound of Commander Rabb crying.


	8. Chapter 8

SJA's Office, MARFORPAC – Camp H. M. Smith, Hawaii

1853 Greenwich/ 1353 Eastern/ 0853 Hawaiian

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie came into her boss's office and braced at attention before his desk. Also in the office were two unfamiliar individuals, one dressed in Marine greens and the other wearing a suit and tie.

"Colonel MacKenzie reporting as ordered, Sir," Mac snapped out as she stood there.

"At ease, Colonel. This is Colonel Saunders, the deputy G-2, and Mister Bell from our friends at Langley," Colonel Knighten, the SJA told her.

"Yes, Sir."

"Colonel, Sadik Fahd is alive," Bell said without any preliminaries.

"Excuse me?" Mac asked as she turned to face the CIA man.

"We have very good cause to believe that he was the mastermind behind the attack in London today."

"So, those were actual attacks and not something else, like the press has been speculating."

"No, Colonel. There were five bombs that went off today. It wasn't an accident or a malfunction with the electric systems or anything else the press is putting out there. The Brits got hit today, make no mistake about it," Bell said.

"But I thought…." Mac started to say before being cut off by Bell. Some things were still secret and the attempt to get Sadik was one of those things.

"We all did. We were all wrong. He's in Pakistan, as far as the last sighting goes, which means he could reasonably be anywhere, though we still believe that he is in Pakistan."

"Alright, so he's still alive. Why are you telling me?"

"I said there were five attacks in London today. Only four have been reported, because we've managed to keep the press focused on the bigger ones. The fifth attack was an attempt on the Force Judge Advocate for USNAVFOREUR, Captain Harmon Rabb," Bell said.

"Harm? Is he alright?" Mac asked, concern in her voice.

"Yes. He had some Marines assigned to him as a protection detail and they managed to get him and his family to safety," Colonel Saunders said.

"And you're worried that Sadik will come after me?"

"It is certainly a possibility that we can't ignore, Colonel," Bell said. "Although we haven't picked up anything that would suggest such an attempt."

"We want you to move to base housing for the time being, Colonel," Colonel Saunders said. "It will be easier for use to protect you that way."

"Thank you, Sir, but I would prefer to stay where I am. I can take care of myself," Mac replied.

"I'm sure you can, but can you take care of yourself and your neighbors too? Because they're as much at risk as you are if you remain there. These people use bombs, which won't differentiate between you and some innocent kid on his way to school. Here on base, we can control the situation by controlling access."

"And I do what? Hide here on base until he's caught or killed?"

"If need be, Colonel. I'd much rather not make it an order, but I can if I have to and General Johns will sign off on it," Colonel Saunders said.

"Aye, aye, Sir. And will I be allowed to leave the base or am I restricted too?" Mac asked, upset at the thought of her freedom being taken away. Nothing either man had said pointed to an immediate threat to her and this just felt like they were jumping the gun.

"You can still leave the base, Mac," Colonel Knighten said, trying to ease the growing tension. "Just take an official vehicle and a driver."

Mac flashed a wry smile at that thought, wondering what Andy would say when she showed up at his place in a Humvee or a Marine green sedan. Or the hassle of visiting her on base. Not to mention, did she want to draw him into this mess, which might only serve to make him a target for the terrorists.

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Good, then I'd suggest getting with base housing and get your housing taken care of. You can take off early this afternoon and have your things moved then. Sergeant Major Elliott has rounded up a few volunteers to help out," Colonel Saunders said, referring to the senior enlisted man in Headquarters Company. "They'll be waiting at your residence at 1500."

"Aye, aye, Sir. Permission to withdraw?" Mac asked.

"Dismissed," Colonel Saunders said, watching as Mac braced to attention before turning and exiting the office.

"Do you really think this Sadik will come here looking for her?" Colonel Knighten asked.

"The best answer I can give you is I don't know," Bell said from his spot against the wall. "There's no Muslim community here to speak of, so nowhere for him or his men to blend into. So, if they did come here, they're essentially on their own. However, that doesn't mean that they can't come here, it just makes things more difficult and that's what I have to go on. I'd rather suggest every precaution in the world than fail to suggest any and watch something actually happen."

Meanwhile, Mac had retreated to her office and was now sitting behind her desk thinking. She didn't want to give up her current house to move into quarters on base, especially when it wasn't her choice. Nothing either Colonel Saunders or the man from the CIA had said convinced her that there was an actual threat against her. Yet, clearly they believed that the possibility existed and they outranked her. So, she would be the good Marine and follow her orders. With that thought, she called base housing and started in on everything she'd need to do to start the process.

Victor Galindez's Quarters – London, England

2213 Greenwich/ 1813 Eastern

Victor and Emily were settled in on the couch, just relaxing together after a very long day. The bombings that morning had affected both of them, with increased security demanded at the Embassy meaning that Victor had had to rework the scheduled shifts. Now, he and his Marines were going to have to work longer shifts to cover the extra coverage ordered. Captain Hailey was begging for additional Marines to assist, but such a request would take time and also require finding the bodies to fulfill it without reducing security at other Embassies, so Victor wasn't counting on the help.

As for Emily, her day had been spent assisting with the investigation of the bus bombing. Assisting because such crimes fell under the jurisdiction of the Anti-Terrorist Branch. But the sheer number of attacks meant that that department was drawn thin and had asked for additional help from other parts of the Metropolitan Police. So, her day had been spent backtracking the route of the bus that morning and noting the various security cameras. Accessing the tapes from them might help with finding the bomber, which in turn might lead to other information.

Once she and her partner had completed that, they then went back to each of the locations and got copies of the day's tapes. These were now begin gone over by a team of surveillance experts. Anything suspicious would be flagged for further attention. That task had taken up most of the day, with a quick stop for lunch. Then it was time to interview the survivors of the attack. The hope was that somebody had seen something which could help narrow their suspect pool. In two of the interviews, a man with a backpack had been mentioned. The second interview gave a pretty good description of the man and Emily's interest peaked at the mention of the man being slightly nervous as he sat down, then changing seat at the next stop, moving to the upper deck of the double decker bus.

That location, she knew, tied in with the location that the explosives experts had put for the bomb. Taking the description to the man in charge of her part of the investigation, she turned it over and explained why she thought it was important. The other Detective Chief Inspector nodded as he listened.

"Good work, Wallace. I think you've given us something to be looked for. I'll have the fellows watching the tapes pay special attention for him," the DCI said with a smile.

That was her last interview of the day, so she'd gone back to the apartment and begun making dinner. Tonight had been lasagna with garlic bread and salad, with the lasagna just finishing up as Victor came through the door. He had hurriedly changed out of his uniform into a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt, then he got the table set and drinks poured. He went with a pitcher of lemonade, since they both had to work tomorrow.

Dinner had been eaten in companionable silence, each slowly unwinding from their days. Once it was done, they shared in the cleanup, with Victor washing while Emily dried. Then it was on to the living room and the waiting couch, where they had been snuggling ever since. Neither of them had made a move for either the television remote control or the one for the stereo system. Rather, they simply held one another and shared the warmth of just being together.

The ringing of the telephone was what separated them. From the sound it was easy to identify it as Emily's. She picked up the offending object with a glare, which softened slightly when she saw that the call was from her partner, Detective Inspector Jack Walsh.

"Emily, turn on Channel 5," Jack said without any preamble.

Emily fumbled for the remote and turned on the television, switching it to the proper channel and then sitting back.

"Again, we caution that this tape may be upsetting to a good many of our viewers. It is, however, newsworthy and that is what we are here to provide. This tape was released to Al Jazeera today, following the attacks that have rocked London. The speaker has been identified at Sadik Fahd, a senior member of Al Qaeda. Here is the tape."

"Today, you have witnessed our power, the power of the faithful. We may not have the technological riches of the Western world, no smart bombs or jet aircraft, but we have something more powerful than all of that, our faith. Here today we say to the Western world: you invade our countries in your pursuit of wealth and oil, you desecrate our holy places with your very presence, you mock our culture and our religion and when you can't buy what we have, you plot to invade our lands and steal it. Enough, we say. Your very presence is a declaration of war and it is war you shall have. As long as a single Western soldier remains on Muslim soil, expect us to fight by any means available. Be it bombs on your transportation system, hijacking your airplanes or other means, it matters not."

"I know that there are those amongst you who choose to laugh at this, thinking what possible threat can these people be to me. I suggest you look at the pictures of what we accomplished today and reconsider your answer. And for my good friends, Captain Harmon Rabb Junior and Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, I have not forgotten you as I'm certain you know by now. Each of you has a day of reckoning coming, some sooner than others. We will find you, no matter where you may be, and I look forward to hearing of your deaths," Sadik said with a sadistic smile on his face before the picture cut to black for a moment, then the reporter came back on.

"We have reached out to both the British and American governments about this tape, especially the last part, where Sadik Fahd specifically mentions two individuals. So far, we have nothing to report back from them. It is, however, believed that Colonel MacKenzie is a United States Marine Corps officer, assigned as a lawyer. This is based on her having appeared as the prosecutor in a high-profile trial televised on Court TV a couple of years ago. As for Captain Rabb, we have nothing to go on at this moment. Why these two individuals were singled out is a question we will be attempting to answer. This is Megan Black, reporting for ZNN."

Emily turned off the television at that, then looked over at Victor who was dialing the telephone.

"Captain, this is First Sergeant Galindez, Sir," Victor said.

"I take it you saw the news," Harm responded.

"Yes, Sir. Is this what I think this is?"

"I'd say that Sadik decided to mix a little pleasure in with his business."

Victor almost laughed at that phrasing, in spite of the seriousness of their conversation.

"What's the plan, Captain?" Victor asked.

"No plan right now, other than to protect my family. Once they find this piece of crap, then ask me, because I have no intention of sit back," Harm said, a tone to his voice that Victor hadn't heard before. This was a man out for blood.

"And what does the Commander have to say about that?"

"Need to know at the moment and she doesn't."

Victor raised his eyebrows at that, surprised that the Captain could be so stupid as to think his wife wouldn't miss him if he took off for a few days. He also felt some concern for the Captain, on a more basic level. The man didn't speak the language and with his height would stick out like a sore thumb if he tried to go into Pakistan, Afghanistan or pretty much anywhere else in the Middle East. He'd be much better off leaving things to the professionals, like Delta Force or DEVGRU or SAS.

Harm could sense where Victor's thoughts were going and he more than admitted to some truth to them. Yet, this was his family they were coming after. What if next time, Sadik succeeded, but it was only Beth and Jack home. He didn't know if he could live with that. Harm also didn't want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next move.

"Captain, I'd say think this through and don't do anything rash, but somehow I doubt thats anything you want to hear," Victor said.

"Not particularly, no," Harm said.

"Well, then consider this, at least. The powers that be will find him first, right? What makes you think they won't go after him?"

"I figure they will, First Sergeant. But, considering he's slipped through twice all ready, I don't want to see him make it three."

Victor could sense there was no use in further discussion. Harm had made his mind up and nothing short of an order was going to get him to back down, even if it was probably the best thing he could do. Then Victor wondered if he would be much different, were the situation reversed and it was Emily under threat. So, Victor said his good nights to Harm and hung up the telephone.

Emily had been half listening to Victor's conversation, while having her own with her partner. Nothing useful had come from the tape, as far as the investigation was concerned except that it was confirmed that Al Qaeda was behind the attacks. The worrying thought was that this was only the beginning.

July 8, 2005

Compound – near Peshawar, Pakistan

0532 Local/ 0032 Greenwich/ 1932 Eastern

Sadik Fahd sat at the computer and watched the news coverage coming in from around the world. The attacks on London were very much the top story on the broadcasts that he had streaming in, bringing a smile to his face. The results were less than he had optimistically hoped for, but still very pleasant to see. The only negative that he could see was that Rabb had managed to survive again. Well, after the failed attack in America, he had suspected something like that might happen.

Still, as long as his source could continue to feed him information, the result he wanted would eventually occur. After all, no man lived forever and Rabb would be no exception. He also hoped that his little goad in the video might make the man do something impulsive, which seemed to be in line with his past exploits, based on the other information his source had provided. Not that there was really much the man could do, not with Sadik here in Pakistan. The United States couldn't send its military after him, at most they would protest to the Pakistani government if they discovered him here and Al Qaeda's friends would 'investigate' the reported sighting and respond that he wasn't actually there, because he'd have left a day or two before their investigators arrived. When the all clear was given, he'd return and laugh at the stupidity of the Americans.

A chime came from his computer, alerting him to a new message. Clicking the icon, he opened it and smiled. He'd used some of Al Qaeda's money to have Abdullah bin Aziz hire a private investigator in Hawaii, a rather unscrupulous fellow whose only concern had been price. The man had been spying on Colonel MacKenzie for almost a month now, even though he would have a hard time acting on any information, as he did not have any people there. Oh, he could have local criminals do it, but he doubted they would have the level of commitment that such a task would require.

Still, that did not diminish the value of the information that the investigator had provided. The new report had MacKenzie been moved onto the base by Marines. It seemed they'd connected the attack on Rabb with her, Sadik thought as he read the rest of the report. A complication, but not surprising except in timing. This had taken place before his video had been released, after all. It did amuse him that the Americans first thought was to protect the woman, rather than use her as bait to draw an attack in.

Well, they might be protecting her, but she was still vulnerable. Sadik's smile became wider, crueler at the thought while he read about her dates with this Andrew Anderson. There were possibilities there, if he could think of a way to act on them. At the same time, there was other work to be done, so he shifted his attention to other things and pushed Rabb and MacKenzie to a back burner.

Guest Quarters – RAF West Ruislip, England

0553 Greenwich/ 0053 Eastern

Harm was showered and shaved, ready to make a start on breakfast. Beth had just taken care of the morning feeding of their son, who was now settled into his highchair where he could observe and be observed while she went for her own shower. The guest quarters were anything but luxurious, but hopefully this would only be a temporary situation and they'd be back on Grove End Road in a week or two. If not, then it would be time for Harm to start making preparations for his other move, down to Naples.

The fly in that ointment was the fact that Beth still had not been able to secure a spousal colocation position in or around Naples. So, if the mess with Sadik wasn't resolved by then, he faced the possibility of having to leave his wife and children in London while he went to Naples. Plus, he wasn't sure how long he'd have these Marines guarding him and his family, but it certainly couldn't be forever.

So lost was he in his thoughts, Harm didn't realize that Beth had returned until she laid a hand on his shoulder while pressing up close behind him. The start that he gave brought a chuckle to her lips.

"What deep thoughts were you thinking that had you so far away?" Beth asked.

"Oh, nothing really," Harm replied, trying to deflect.

"You're a terrible liar, Harm. You were obviously thinking about something. Now, what was it?"

"I was just thinking about how much I hated this whole situation. I mean, here we are in temporary housing because our home isn't safe. We have no idea how long we'll have to stay here, because we have no idea when or even if we'll ever be safe again. Yet, I have no idea how long we'll have these Marines around to help protect us. And that's not even getting into the whole mess of my moving to Naples in under two months and we still don't know if you'll be joining me or not."

Beth just looked at Harm, not especially surprised that his thoughts had taken him there. After all, she had been thinking about many of the same things. Yet, she sensed that there was something more beyond what he had just said.

"Well, we just have to hope that they can find this Sadik and then we can get on with our lives," Beth said, identifying the more critical problem facing them.

"And what if they can't? What if he gets away again because of typical Agency incompetence? I'm not ready to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder," Harm said in a flat tone of voice.

"Well, that's not our problem, Harm. We're not trained to go after a guy like Sadik, so we have to trust the people who are to do the job."

Harm just stood facing the stove, not answering Beth at the moment. Unfortunately for him, that more than enough of an answer for his wife. Beth felt a temper flare in her as she realized that Harm was actually contemplating something as stupid as going after Sadik by himself again.

"Harmon Rabb, look at me!" Beth demanded. When he turned from the stove, she had all the confirmation that she needed when he couldn't meet her eyes. "Are you stupid? You're actually thinking of going after this guy again? No, don't even answer that! I want you to think really hard here, think about everything you stand to lose if you do this. Me, Mattie and Jack for starters."

"Is that a threat, Beth?" Harm asked coolly, looking down at her.

"No, you idiot! It's me trying to remind you that you're not Superman! How many times can you stick your head in the lion's mouth before it gets bitten off? Because I've heard all about some of the crazier stunts you've pulled, like playing tag with a dirty nuke? Have you reached a point where you think you'll always make it, because that's not true. One time you're going to do something and the next thing that happens in a Navy car pulls up in front of our quarters and a chaplain and a senior officer get out and come up the walk to tell me how you've been killed in action. And then, I'm the one who has to tell Mattie and Jack that their father isn't coming home, that another Rabb has given his life for his country and left another son with a legacy to follow."

Beth turned at that and left the kitchen, taking Jack with her. Harm turned back to the stove as the smell of burning food reached him. He looked down and saw that the eggs were charred black and smoking. Harm grimaced as he tossed the ruined food into the trash, suddenly not hungry. So, he went to the bedroom and got dressed for the day, seeing from the evidence that Beth had done so as well. He then went to the other bedroom, which was serving as Jack's room. Here he found Beth getting the little boy ready for the day.

"I'm sorry, darling," Harm said quietly. "I'm just not any good at waiting for other people to solve my problems for me."

"Well, you're going to have to get used to it. Besides, this isn't just your problem. This is our problem, our country's problem, even the world's problem. So, it seems reasonable to me that we allow the world a chance to solve it, rather than Sir Harmon climbing aboard his trusty steed and riding off to save the world," Beth replied.

"And if the world can't solve it?"

"Then, and only then, it might be up to us to solve it."

"Beth, if I do anything, you are going to stay well out of it," Harm responded. "Our children need at least one parent."

"Then the world had better solve it, because the only way I'm letting you go charging off again is if I'm flying in the backseat," Beth told him.

Harm gave a silent sigh, as he realized that there was no possible way he'd do anything that would put Beth in danger. And after her statement, he also realized that she had just backed him into a corner and done it quite effectively. So, he was left hoping that other people would be able to resolve this mess.

SIS Headquarters – London, England

0723 Greenwich/ 0223 Eastern

Spying had come a long way since Sir Alistair first signed up sixty years ago, the old man thought as he sat in a chair next to C and listened to the latest information on the terrorist attacks. The latest death toll was around 50, with a couple dozen more still listed as critical. The Metropolitan Police were the lead agency in the investigation, with SIS screening information looking for the foreign angle. That there was such an angle had been made abundantly clear last night with the release of Sadik Fahd's video.

The two men were in a large conference room, along with others involved in the investigation. They had just finished a reviewing of the video, as well as reading a transcript of it. The man at the lectern was one of the bright stars of the photographic interpretation department.

"As you can see from the tape, a good deal of effort has been taken to conceal any identifying characteristics of the location. Notice the black cloth in the background, covering the walls behind the subject. Also notice that the desk in front of him has a computer on it, but no papers. Enhancement was unable to get a clear enough look at the serial number," the man said as he pointed to the object.

"Would that have done us any good?" someone asked.

"It depends, really. If the computer was purchased locally, it might give us an idea of where the subject is. However, it may well have been purchased half a world away and the information is useless. I can only work with what I have."

"That's fine," C said, appreciating that the man and his team were doing all that they could. "Keep working on that tape, if you think you can find anything useful. But I also need your people going through the security camera footage that's out there. We need to try and ID the bombers, if we can."

"I realize you're probably already working on this, but have we developed any more information on where Taleb is hiding?" Sir Alistair asked.

"We're still working on that, Sir. So far, we have him as far as the M1 near Salford. We're using traffic cameras to follow the car, jumping ahead as best we can. The problem is, we can't just too far ahead because we don't know his ultimate destination and don't want to lose him along the way. Also, if he stops somewhere along the way to eat or refuel the car and we miss it, it is easier to backtrack a short distance than a farther one," the photo expert said.

"What are you thinking, Sir Alistair?" C asked.

"I believe that Taleb was the organizer of these attacks. If we can find where he went to roost after meeting bin Aziz, we can then see who leaves that building and work on following them. Unless I'm well off the mark, I suspect five of them will be our subjects."

"But which five?" one of the surveillance team members asked, thinking about the task that was before them.

"My good man, I cannot be expected to solve all of your problems, can I? This is the problem with you young people, you always want a quick solution. You rely too much on the technology, instead of working on the human element. Quite frankly, Taleb never should have gotten into the country without someone somewhere noticing it. And once he was discovered, he should have been under close surveillance and we should have tried to get someone close to him," Sir Alistair said.

"What do you mean, get somebody close to him?"

"Exactly that. Get an informer inside his group or close to his group, relaying information to us. Instead, we're faced with a known terrorist on the loose and already responsible for five attacks on British soil. All because we and others failed in our duties."

C listened to his former boss and couldn't exactly disagree, even if SIS concentrated on foreign intelligence rather than domestic. This was a failure of intelligence, almost as bad as the Americans lapse surrounding 9/11. The only difference was the scale was lesser here than there. He knew that eventually his agency would be called to account for these failures, as well as any more that occurred. On that thought, C called the meeting to a close after outlining the course of action for the day.

"The old man is a dinosaur, a living, breathing fossil of another era," said the surveillance man as Sir Alistair was nearing the door. Unfortunately, his words were still loud enough to be heard.

"Yes, young man, I am all of that. But more importantly, I'm also completely correct in my belief that you young people have no idea what the game is all about," Sir Alistair said as he turned back to the door and left the room.

"You've really stepped in it there, Nigel. That was a living legend you decided to take on, probably the best information man in the business. I'll assume that you don't realize this because of your relative youth and because Sir Alistair was largely before your time. However, I would suggest you think before speaking in the future, especially when you don't know what you're talking about," the photo interpreter said as he followed the others out of the room. He remembered Sir Alistair well and while their paths hadn't crossed often, they had enough to know that Sir Alistair was from a different era, one where you got your intelligence by actually talking with sources rather than relying on satellites to get pretty pictures that were often open for interpretation and misunderstanding. The photo man believed that his work was good, but he also knew it was only a small piece of a much larger puzzle, a puzzle that required information to make any sense of.


	9. Chapter 9

Lieutenant Commander Rabb's Office, US Embassy – London, England

0855 Greenwich/ 0355 Eastern

Beth had just returned from a meeting with her boss, the head of the Office of Defense Cooperation. It seemed that a posting had finally been found for her in Italy, but she wasn't exactly thrilled by it. She was going to be detailed to the Office of Defense Cooperation in Rome and while she agreed with her superior that it was better than being in London once Harm had moved to Naples, it still was a two hour drive each way and that basically meant that they would be separated for most of the following time he was assigned to NAVFOREUR as the JAG.

As she was sitting at her desk thinking about what the move to Italy would mean, a knock came at her door. Calling out an 'Enter', she was slightly surprised to see First Sergeant Galindez enter the office. She also noted that he'd closed the door after him as he entered before taking a position of attention before her desk. Beth smiled slightly at the man, having formed a similar opinion to Harm's in the time she'd known him.

"How can I help you, First Sergeant?" Beth asked.

"Begging the Commander's pardon, but I was hoping to help you a little. You saw the news last night, Ma'am?" Victor asked, feeling his way carefully.

"About a certain terrorist wanting to come after my husband and my family? Yes, we most certainly saw that."

"Well, I'm a little concerned, Ma'am. About the Captain, I mean. I can't see him just sitting back and taking this, but I would hate to see him do something…well, let's just say something that might not be exactly beneficial."

Beth smiled slightly at the carefully phrased wording that Victor just used. He was keeping just to the right side of contemptuous words, while it was plain that he wanted to say "do something stupid".

"Well, First Sergeant, I hope I took care of that problem this morning, when I told him that he had two choices: either leave it alone or I'm going with him," Beth said.

"Somehow, I don't think those were the choices the Captain was looking for, Ma'am," Victor said.

"I don't exactly care. He's got a family that needs him and he isn't the only one capable of getting the job done."

Victor winced slightly at Beth's words, knowing that they were simultaneously tiptoeing along two lines. First and foremost was the whole officer/ enlisted thing. Despite the friendship that existed between both Captain and Commander Rabb and himself, Victor was very much aware of not getting too close and this conversation was starting to get there. Secondly was the idea of contemptuous words. Even though the Rabbs were married, his agreeing with what she was saying could land him in some pretty hot water.

Beth saw the expression on Victor's face and wondered what exactly had caused it, before mentally reviewing her words and then she winced. Venting like that to him was probably not the best of ideas, she realized a moment later. Giving herself a mental shake, she decided to end the current topic of conversation.

"So, First Sergeant, I understand congratulations are in order?" Beth half asked, half stated.

"Ma'am?" Victor responded.

"A little bird happened to mention something about you getting permission to get married."

Victor wasn't surprised the word was out, nor by how fast it had spread. The only place worse than the Embassy for gossip had been JAG HQ, with Lieutenant Sims leading the charge there. Here, it was the civilians who spread the word, especially the secretaries or administrative assistants.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."

"So, have you and your bride-to-be set a date yet?" Beth asked, remembering the pretty young woman from various Embassy get-togethers.

"No, Ma'am. There's a lot to work out, what with us being here and my family being in New Mexico. Not to mention I just got the good news a couple of days ago and then the bombings happened, so Emily and I are both a little busy right now," Victor replied.

"Well, good lucky with all that, First Sergeant."

"Thank you, Ma'am. And I'll make sure you and the Captain get an invitation, too."

"That's great," Beth said with a smile, seeing a degree of happiness on the Marine's face that she'd never expected.

"By your leave, Ma'am," Victor said as he realized that the Commander was smiling at him and he felt a little self-conscious about that.

"Carry on, First Sergeant."

Beth watched the Marine about face and exit the office, her smile broadening at the sight. For a moment, she had thought the man was going to blush. Would wonders never cease?

Force Judge Advocate's Office – London, England

0943 Greenwich/ 0443 Eastern

Harm was just settling behind his desk, having returned from the morning staff call. There had been the usual handful of minor cases to be handed out, many of them arising from the recent holiday weekend and the propensity of people to celebrate with the intoxicant of their preference. So now there were several sailors in trouble for various offenses to the UCMJ, which his staff would have to handle.

Now, however, Harm was confronted by the sight of a suspiciously full IN box. Lifting the documents out, he sorted through them until he came to one extremely large file. This one he would have to handle personally, he realized once he'd opened it and read the cover sheet. It dealt with the legal issues arising from the departure of NAVFOREUR from London and its transfer to Naples. The arrangement had been negotiated over the course of several years, which explained the size of the file as each side had put in their two cents. Now the document was finalized and all that was needed was a last review by him and then approval for Admiral Kieso.

A knock at the door broke Harm's concentration. Looking up, he frowned slight.

"Enter," Harm called out.

The office door was opened by his yeoman, Petty Officer Simpkins, who held it for a vaguely familiar Commander to enter. Harm watched as the man braced before his desk, while Simpkins closed the door.

"At ease, Commander. How may I help you today?" Harm asked as he took note of the mill-rinds on the man's shoulder boards as he bent forward to lay a sheath of paperwork on Harm's desk. Picking up the sheath, Harm read through the orders. As he did so, a soft bell started ringing in his head as he knew the name but was trying to place it.

"Do I know you, Commander?"

"We met a couple of times, Sir. Here in London, last year," Commander David Coulter said.

"You were here to see Commander Alexander," Harm said as his brain made the connection.

"Yes, Sir."

"How is the Commander?"

"She's doing alright, Sir. Out of the Navy on a disability discharge, since her memory is still a little shaky at times, but other than that she's doing good," David said.

"And are you two…?" Harm started to ask before stopping himself.

"Yes, Sir. We got married on New Year's Day."

Harm smiled at the smile the creased the other man's features. He'd sensed something between the two officers that day in the hospital room and was glad to know that things had worked out for them.

"Good, and she'll be joining you in Naples?"

"Yes, Sir. She's here with me, while I report in and then we go on to Naples tomorrow. I was told that Commander Coleman won't depart her position until the fifteenth, so that gives us a few day to carry out the handover," David said.

"It should be smooth. Commander Coleman has a highly organized personality, so everything will be in its place. And then, in September, I'll be bringing the rest of the office there and taking over most of the paperwork, while you handle the day-to-day running of the office," Harm told him.

"Not much excitement, is it, Sir?"

"Not much, Commander, but the higher we rise in rank, the less excitement we're likely to see. Compared to when I was an investigator working out of JAG HQ, this is a 9 to 5, Monday to Friday type job."

The two men traded a look before a chuckle escaped their lips. Harm thought that he'd have no trouble getting along with his new deputy, while David reflected on his good fortune in getting this posting. His promotion to Commander had come at the end of last year and with it came more responsibility. So, when he'd been offered his choice of either the Deputy FJA posting in Europe or heading an LSO, he'd picked Europe. While it might not have been his own command, David thought it would be a better posting for his career overall, especially in light of the planned reorganization of the JAG Corps might have meant losing his command as various offices and personnel were shuffled around.

"Well, Commander, welcome aboard," Harm said as he stood and extended his hand.

"Thank you, Sir," David said as he followed suit and shook the offered hand.

Harm escorted the Commander out of the office and saw that Lyn Alexander Coulter was indeed "here" with her husband. She was sitting in one of the visitor's chairs in the outer office, a smile crossing her face as her husband came into view. Standing up with the aid of a cane, she turned to fully face Harm. He noticed her hair was longer than he recalled, reaching to between her shoulders, and she was a little heavier than before.

"Captain Rabb, it's good to see you again, Sir," Lyn said as she approached.

"And you as well, Mrs. Coulter," Harm replied, drawing a beaming smile for the brunette. "I'm sorry you couldn't continue in the service."

"Don't be, Captain. Things happen for a reason and maybe this was just God's way of telling me and David to stop wasting time."

"Well, you seem to have taken that to heart."

"Not much choice. It was either move forward or just lay around throwing a giant pity party for myself and David wouldn't let me get away with that," Lyn said with a teasing grin.

"You've never been one for pity, darling," David said, while Harm looked on with an amused grin on his face before coughing lightly.

"Why don't you two get out of here, see the sights before you leave," Harm said in tone of mock command.

"Aye, aye, Sir," David snapped out as he and Lyn left the office.

Harm watched the pair leave before turning back to his own office and the pile of paperwork that still awaited him.

A Flat – Leeds, United Kingdom

1004 Greenwich/ 0504 Eastern

As both C and Sir Alistair suspected, Anwar Taleb was not one of the bombers. In fact, he had been the cell leader and recruiter of the bombers. Now, he was in the process of clearing out the flat that they had used as their base of operations. He'd started with the simple things first, like all of the spare clothing that had been left behind. This he'd checked to make certain there was nothing that could identify it, such as a receipt left in a pocket or a name stitched on it. Then, he'd taken it all to the laundry and washed it before bundling it up and dropping it off at a local charity organization. Most of it was new and would be quickly distributed or sold, making it exceedingly unlikely that it could be traced back to a specific point.

After all of that, he'd removed the computer and all of its ancillary equipment. This went into the back of his car, a well-used Volkswagen Jetta. It was joined by his personal clothing and the remaining groceries. Then it was time to scrub down the apartment, not exactly a prospect that Taleb was looking forward to, but a necessary one none the less. He'd already taken care of the other bedroom yesterday, so all he had left was his room and the common areas.

What he wanted to achieve was to leave a blank canvas for when the police eventually found this place. That was why he was taking his time, making certain to do this right. He got the insides of the doorknobs as well as scrubbing the walls and woodwork. By the time he was done, the flat looked even better than when the cell had moved in. Yet, for all of his effort, Taleb didn't achieve the result that he was after.

Despite it all, Taleb over looked the simple window. He'd certainly seen his men often enough standing by the window, always careful to never stand directly in front of it but still standing there. Even he had stood there on occasion, taking in the sight of the street and looking for potential watchers. But he never thought to wash it, he thought about his fingerprints possibly being on the glass. And so, despite his efforts, he still left potential pursuers a clue.

Locking the flat up, Taleb went downstairs and paused briefly at the doorway. He made one last check of the street before stepping outside and getting into his car. The lease on the flat ran until the end of the year, so he wasn't worried about that. Also, it had been paid upfront so that the building manager wouldn't have a reason to stop by. He wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed that the flat was empty, not to mention how long after that before the manager tried to rent it out again.

Frankly, Taleb didn't care. He would be safe and sound in his next safe house before any of that came to pass, he was certain. He wanted to leave the country, but he also wanted to wait before making the move. Security would most definitely be on high alert at the moment and he simply looked too Arabic to sneak through any checkpoints. No, for the moment, he would lay low and wait for the storm to pass.

What Taleb didn't know was that the noose was getting tighter. SIS had worked hard for the last few hours and followed his car through the various surveillance cameras all the way to Leeds. Here, they handed things over to the Security Service, which was responsible for domestic operations, explaining that they had followed a foreign source meeting with Taleb at Heathrow. The Security Service was more than keen, as their liaison officer could readily see the possible connections, and a team was dispatched to Leeds.

By the time the team arrived, the building had been identified. Local surveillance cameras were accessed and the last day was played back from the pair with the best views of the entrance. It was through this that they watched Taleb drive away after loading his car. A second team was summoned, so that one could raid the flat while the other got on with tracking their suspect.

Victor Galindez's Quarters – London, England

1753 Greenwich/ 1253 Eastern

Emily was curled up on the couch, leafing through a vast assortment of bridal magazines. In all the time since she and Victor had decided to get married, she had been collecting these as sources of inspiration. The little girl within her wanted the fairytale wedding, while the modern woman wanted something more suitable to today. So, she was looking at the various dresses, trying to find a picture that spoke to her.

Emily also knew she definitely didn't want the traditional white dress, but rather something a little off-white, maybe antique white or a little darker. She just felt with her fair skin, it would bleach her out when it came time for pictures. Another concern for her was the size of the wedding. Given that only her grandfather was likely to attend from her side of the family, she thought something intimate was the best way to go. Of course, her friends on the force would attend, as would their wives or significant others, but in large part, the weeding would be Victor's family and friends. Then again, if their visits to New Mexico were any indication, his family could probably fill a small church, what with cousins and such.

Turning her attention back to the magazine in her lap, she turned the page and stopped dead. There it was, she though. The dress was simply gorgeous, featuring a strapless top with a sweetheart neckline and an A-line with double lace Tulle. The color was the antique white she was looking for. Marking the page, she turned to the back and found contact information for the bridal shop. Taking her cell phone out, she called and set up an appointment to stop in tomorrow for a fitting.

Emily had just hung up the telephone when Victor came through the door, two bags of groceries hanging from his arms. He'd stopped at the local market on his way home and picked up some fresh vegetables as well as more milk and pasta. For dinner tonight, he was going to make a large bowl of salad and grilled chicken breasts. Before that, though, he needed to change out of his uniform. So, after putting the groceries away, he went into the bedroom and changed into a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Then it was back to the kitchen, where he started the range-top grill before removing all the salad fixings from the refrigerator.

Victor tore apart two whole heads of lettuce, figuring that if there was any left over, he could have it for lunch tomorrow. After that, he sliced up the tomatoes, cucumbers and onions, tossing the pieces into the bowl before mixing things together. By this time, the grill was ready for the chicken breasts. As he set them to grill, he swiftly shredded some cheddar cheese over the salad.

The salad was ready, while the chicken grilled slowly. Victor lightly basted them with a lemon and butter mixture, then sprinkled some seasoning atop them. The smell of the grilling chicken brought Emily from the living room. Seeing the food was close to being down, she set the table and removed a couple of bottle of salad dressings along with a bottle of wine.

"So, how was your day?" Victor asked.

"Not too bad. We've finished most of the interviews, so Special Branch is releasing most of us back to our normal duties. A few will be kept on another day or two to tie up any loose ends, then they should be back as well," Emily told him.

"So, you're back to chasing ordinary criminals now?"

"And good thing too. Too long away and they might think we didn't care anymore."

Victor laughed at that, while also recognizing a basic truth. If the rest of the police were focusing on the terrorists, the regular bad guys could potentially see it as open season on honest people. It was rather like a wolf seeing a flock of sheep left out without a sheepdog to protect them.

"Oh, and we need to start figuring out our wedding plans," Emily said, causing Victor's eyes to about pop out of his head. "What? We've got permission, so let's get on with it, Marine."

"Yes, Ma'am," Victor snapped out.

"I'm serious, Victor. We need to come up with a plan."

"Well, then, you'll be happy to know I spent some time working on that today. Or at least the mountain of paperwork required for us to get married here. We've got permission, now we have to wait on a background check on you for a security clearance. You'll also need to go for a physical and we'll need to go to premarital counseling as well."

"So, do I go to my own doctor for that?" Emily asked.

"No, we'll go out to the Navy clinic on RAF West Ruislip and have one of their doctors do it. That way it's official and they'll send the results to Captain Hailey to include with our paperwork. The background check will probably be the holdup, because I don't know how long that will take. But we can get the counseling done while we're waiting on that," Victor said.

"That still leaves other things that we need to plan, like where and how big?"

"Personally, I'm all for a small wedding. My family, your grandfather and our friends. One question will be getting them all over here."

"We could get married in New Mexico. I'd only really be inviting my grandfather, my partner and a couple of friends. Your family would take a lot of money to get over here," Emily said, thinking about all of Victor's extended family that she had met on various trips to the United States.

"Would you be happy doing that?" Victor asked.

"It's definitely something we should consider."

"Alright, I'll have Maria got to the courthouse tomorrow and see what we would need to do to get married there."

"Speaking of Maria, have you told your family the latest news?" Emily asked.

"Not yet. Not until we know something more definite about timing," Victor replied.

"That's not going to work."

Emily got up from the table and went to the living room to retrieve her cell phone. Then she pressed a speed dial button and smiled across the table.

"Hello, Emily," Mrs. Galindez answered the phone, recognizing the number on her caller ID.

"Hello, Mama. Victor and I have some wonderful news for you and the rest of the family," Emily told her.

"Are you pregnant?"

"No, Mama. We've gotten permission to get married, so we can start planning the wedding."

"That's wonderful, Emily. I'm so happy for you and Victor," Mrs. Galindez said, her smile coming through even over the telephone. "So, have you decided on when and where?"

"We're working on that, Mama. There's a lot of things we have to get done before we can get married, the permission is only the first step. Plus, we want the whole family there and it would cost so much to bring everybody from New Mexico to London," Emily said.

"But it would be so worth it, dear. It's not every day you get to see your son get married and welcome a new member to the family."

"Still, we're going to have Maria get us copies of what we would need to do to get married in New Mexico."

"Maria will be delighted to do that for you. I'll ask her for you, since she's coming for dinner tonight. Now, have you decided when you want to get married?" Mrs. Galindez asked.

"The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned," Emily said with a smile. "But part of that will depend on the where and jumping through all the hoops that the government sets out before you can legally get to the altar."

"Ah, speaking of altar, were you getting married in a church?"

"Of course, Mama. Victor and I have already had that discussion and thankfully, we're both Roman Catholic. So, we've already been talking to Father Martin about eventually marrying us and he's said that he would be delighted to."

"And I'm sure Father Dominguez would be equally pleased to marry you both if you decided to get married here," Mrs. Galindez replied. "Now, what about flowers?"

"I want some, besides the bouquets for me and my bridesmaids. Not a lot, mind you, just enough to make the church look festive," Emily told her.

"Good, good. Now Emily, you make Victor help you with all of this. I know, most men are absolutely clueless when it comes to these things, but that doesn't excuse them from at least trying to help."

"Yes, Mama. I will."

"Tell Victor I said I love you and I love you too, Emily," Mrs. Galindez said before she hung up.

Emily hung up her phone and relayed Mrs. Galindez's instructions to her son, before ending with the statement of love. Victor just smiled as she spoke. He planned on helping her, though he was quite certain he'd only be getting in the way. For now, however, he cleared the table and took care of the dishes. Once everything was back where it belonged, he turned to find Emily was back out in the living room going over more magazines.

Victor settled in next to her and went through them with her, though he was absolutely clueless as to what he should be looking for. These pictures were for bridesmaid dresses, with Emily carefully keeping away from the bridal gowns, fearful of the potential bad luck of Victor seeing her gown before the wedding day. So, with him next to her, she was thinking about colors for the bridesmaids. Victor would be in his Dress uniform, but would his groomsmen be in uniform as well or in tuxedos. If the men were all in that dark uniform, then she wanted the colors to be darker, like a burgundy or navy blue.

Those thoughts brought another one to her mind, how big of a wedding party would they have. For her, she didn't have a lot of friends, her job and its hours having separated her from most of her old one. So, who would she have as attendants? Little did Emily know, but Victor was having relatively the same thoughts, although with his large family, it was easier for him to just decide to ask members of the extended family to fill the vacant roles.

After a couple of hours of looking through the magazines, Victor had had enough. He stood up from the couch and stretched before extending his hand to Emily. She looked at him quizzically before taking it and allowing him to pull her up, then he led her out of the living room and down the hall to their bedroom for some quality time together.

O'Neil's House – Strasburg, Virginia

1642 Eastern/ 2142 Greenwich

Debbie surveyed the kitchen with distaste. Since she was the first one home today, that meant that she had to make a start on dinner. Yet, she wasn't in a mood to cook. In fact, all she really wanted to do was retire to her personal darkroom in the basement and develop the pictures she'd taken that day. But, this was one of the things that she and Beth had arranged when they'd first become a couple, since neither of them really liked to cook. Oh, they were both sufficiently good at the chore, but neither had any real passion for it. That's also why they ate out quite a bit, too.

Going to the refrigerator, she looked through her options before deciding on spaghetti with meat sauce and a loaf of garlic bread. Setting a large pot of water to boil on the stove top, Debbie turned on the oven for the bread. Then she went to the pantry for a bottle of sauce, which she set to simmer on the stove. With that done, she sat down at the table and waited for the oven to heat up.

That was just about done when Beth and Mattie came in, laughing at something Debbie hadn't heard. Beth saw her girlfriend had started dinner for them, so she headed for the bedroom. It was a few moments later that she returned, now dressed in a t-shirt and shorts rather than the longer sleeved top and jeans she'd been wearing.

"The smells nice," Beth said as she sat down next to Debbie.

"Just store bought sauce and garlic bread," Debbie told them.

"Well, we worked up an appetite, so I hope there's enough."

"Oh, and what we you doing today?"

"Basic flight maneuvers, climbs, dives, turns and banks."

"I need to work out more," Mattie chimed in.

"Modern planes have lighter controls, but nothing beats 'Sarah' for training. She's a very forgiving plane to fly," Beth told her.

"And fairly easy, too. She seemed to do exactly what I wanted her to do."

"Don't get too confident, Mattie. She'll still figure out a way to bite you if you're not careful."

"I can't help feeling like this should be harder," Mattie said.

"It will be. Right now is the basics. Next, we'll put some of those together. Then, you'll be ready for takeoffs and landings, after some ground schooling first," Beth told her.

Mattie just smiled at that. She was enjoying having Beth as a teacher, someone who walked the line between making things easy enough on the student but also difficult enough that the student got a sense of accomplishment with each new achievement. It also helped that this was one subject Mattie desperately wanted to learn.

"So, how was your day, Debbie?" Mattie asked politely.

"Not that great, actually. Didn't get any shots from my first two sites, too many tourists around making too much noise. The three site was better and I think I got some good pictures, but I won't know until I develop them," Debbie asked.

"Maybe tomorrow will be better," Beth told her girlfriend.

"Doubtful. Summer's always the worst season for me, because of all the kids being out of school. So, Mom and Dad load everybody into the car and head out for vacation and little Sally Sue has to point and squeal at all the animals she's seeing. And the kids get mad when the deer goes running away from the noise, like this isn't the wild but rather a petting zoo."

"I think I've heard this sermon before."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I go on and on about it, but it never ceases to upset me."

"I'd like to see you work, sometime," Mattie told Debbie.

"What do you say, teacher. Can your star pupil take a day off and come with me?" Debbie asked with a grin.

"Don't see why not," Beth replied, thinking her plans through. "Besides, that would give me a day to get caught up on the charter end of the business."

"Great. We'll go tomorrow."

"Wonderful."

Debbie and Beth shared a secret smile at the teen's enthusiasm, wondering how long that would last tomorrow. Debbie had once taken her girlfriend with her and at the end of the day, Beth had said that her job was the most boring thing she'd ever seen. It probably was, what with simply sitting still for hours on end, just sitting and waiting for something to come into view. Then, if you were lucky, you'd get a few pictures before it was gone. Yet, as far as Debbie was concerned, the beauty in those few pictures was more than worth it.

With dinner done, Beth and Mattie attacked the dishes before the threesome gathered in the living room. Beth and Debbie snuggled up on the couch, while Mattie took over the recliner and they all settled in to watch a movie. When the movie ended, it was time for bed, as Debbie said they had an early start ahead of them in the morning. Mattie raised her eyebrows at that, but didn't think to question just how early the start would be.


	10. Chapter 10

July 9, 2005

Safe House – near Newton, United Kingdom

0448 Greenwich/ 2348 Eastern

Twelve men dressed from head to boot in black descended on the farm house, moving quietly through the predawn gloom. The team had been called in by the surveillance team when they had finally run Anwar Taleb to ground. This hide was rather ingenious, yet also a bad choice at the same time. Being somewhat in the country, there were few neighbors close by to notice the comings and goings of the occupants. When Taleb had chosen the place as a safe house, he had thought that the distance would give him a good chance to see people coming from a distance.

The problem was, his enemies were not planning anything as simple as waiting until daylight and driving up to the door. Rather, they were going to attack at night and rely on a three keys to wining the day: speed, surprise and violence of action. The speed would be achieved, along with the surprise, by reaching the house unseen. Then, a four man team would enter through the front, while four more went through the rear. The remainder were to cover the sides of the house and make sure that Taleb didn't escape out a window.

Violence of action was best summed up by hitting their target before he had a chance to react. Their superiors had made it plain that they wanted Taleb alive and the men would do their utmost to make that happen. They also had to be concerned about the potential of other bombs being on site, which was another reason to take him before he could react. Though a bomb going off out here wouldn't have the same potential for damage as it would if they were in a city, not that that was much consolation to the twelve men taking the house.

The raid was over in a matter of moments. Four men quickly hustled a cuffed and hooded man from the residence, with the leader calling in their transportation. The other eight formed a ring around the house, awaiting the arrival of the bomb disposal unit to go through the house. There were no cheers or backslapping going on, for the men were professionals. The celebrations would come later, once the job was well and truly done. For now, they had a mission to complete.

As for Taleb, he was left to wonder how they had found him so quickly. He had been briefed that it would take weeks before that would be possible, not days. In fact, he and Sadik had spent a good amount of time before the mission discussing that and it had been planned that other bombings would be carried out before the authorities reached him. A single thought brought a smile to Taleb's face and that was the fact that he was held by the British. Their laws would protect him from suffering abuses such as he had endured in an Egyptian prison. Here, that would be considered torture.

The British would get no information out of him, Taleb was quite sure. He would take a silent joy in listening to them talk and talk, their claims of reasonableness and his need to help himself. He would also take pleasure in the fact that no matter how long they held him, eventually they would have to let him go. He'd taken pains to ensure that nothing in the house tied him to the recent attacks, nor was there anything here that could be used to make any bombs. No, he would be harassed but then released, certain to be watched for quite some time, but still free. Free to help kill more of the hated Westerners.

Sir Alistair's Home – London, England

0602 Greenwich/ 0102 Eastern

The shrill ring of the telephone awoke Sir Alistair and with a reach, he grabbed the offending object from the bedside table.

"Hello?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir Alistair," C said. "But wanted to let you know that we've found Mr. Taleb. A team from SAS did the take down and he's on his way to London as we speak."

"Who has him now?"

"Special Branch has custody. We've been invited to assist in the interrogation along with the Security Service, given the foreign aspects of the case. Special Branch is tearing apart the flat in Leeds, but it looks like it was cleaned. Still, they may find something useful."

"I take it you want me involved in the interrogation?" Sir Alistair asked.

"Of course. We need to break Taleb, quickly and cleanly. We need to know if there is more to come or if this is it, we need to know where Sadik is and we need all the information we can get on Al Qaeda," C said.

"I doubt that Taleb knows where Sadik is. If he did know, Sadik must have moved on by now. Still, it is a starting point. I'd suggest we do this at noon, so that I can fully review the files we have on him, as well as see what Special Branch turns up at the flat. Give him a hearty breakfast, but otherwise leave him well alone."

"I'll see to it, Sir Alistair."

With that, Sir Alistair got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. Taking care, he took a shower and toweled dry as best as he could. Then he put on his bathrobe and left the bath for his bedroom. Here he found Michael waiting for him. The sound of the telephone had awoken him as well, with the sound of the shower urging him out of bed.

"Good morning, Sir Alistair," Michael said.

"And to you as well, Michael. We'll be leaving around 11:30, going to Special Branch," Sir Alistair said.

"I'll have the car ready. Don't forget, Sir, you have a Miss Matthews coming at 9 for your physical therapy appointment."

"Of course. When she arrives, bring her to me."

"Very good. Anything else you need help with this morning?" Michael asked.

"Not now, but later, I'll probably need some help with socks and shoes," Sir Alistair said without the slightly embarrassment. He'd know that until his leg was more fully functional, he'd need some help.

"Certainly. Just let me know when, Sir."

With that, Michael left the room. Now, Sir Alistair shed the robe and got dressed. For now, he went with a pair of slacks and an open collared shirt. When it was time to leave, he would be dressed in a suit and tie, looking like someone very important. Once dressed for the moment, he left the bedroom and made his way to his study, using the cane to assist him.

When he was settled behind his desk, he took out his file on Anwar Taleb and started rereading it. He had much of it memorized, but it never hurt to be certain. Besides, it often scared the living daylights out of people when you could just rattle off chapter and verse about them without having to look at anything but them. That wasn't to say that he wouldn't have a folder on the table or desk he'd be using for the interrogation, but those were partly for effect and also to shock his subject.

As Sir Alistair worked, he started to mentally get into the role he would be playing later. A good interrogator had to be by turns hard yet gentle. Finding just the right key that would unlock the subject's tongue and get them talking. For most Middle Easterners, it was useful to remember that in their homelands, torture was often used by the police. They were almost expecting it and yet, they also knew that Westerners wouldn't, couldn't take that step. For Sir Alistair, he liked to convince them that there was something worse than torture for them to fear.

A knock at the door to the study brought Sir Alistair's head up. Closing the opened file, he carefully put them away. Only then did he call out for the visitor to enter. Standing from behind the desk, he took up the cane and walked slowly over to the door as a young woman with raven hair came in. He judged her to be roughly his granddaughter's age and she was dressed in blouse and slacks, wearing tennis shoes and carrying a folding massage table.

"Sir Alistair? I'm Angelica Matthews, your physical therapist," the woman said with a soft, melodic voice.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss," Sir Alistair said as he took her extended hand and bent slightly to kiss the back of it.

"Doctor Schulte sent me your file, so I am aware of the extent of your current disability. Has there been any improvement in your left side since your release from hospital?"

"Slightly. My left leg feels a little steadier but that is only in short bursts of time. I've been doing the walking that was listed in my release papers and that does seem to be helping."

"I see you're using a cane. Have you had any difficulty with rising from a seated position?" Angelica asked.

"Some. Thankfully my left arm is almost back to normal and I can use both of them to help me get standing using the arms of the chair," Sir Alistair confessed. "Then it's just a matter of having something to steady myself with until my legs can support me."

"Well then, why don't I get this set up and we can have a go at that leg of yours?"

It was the work of moments to get the table set up and Sir Alistair onto it. Angelica had him lay on his stomach as she started moving his leg around. Then she had him turn over onto his back and began doing some walking movements with it. What she was trying to do was get the nerves to remember the motions, for she had noticed a certain stiffness as he had come to greet her. She believed that this would help with regaining the strength and stability the attack had taken from him. As would the last part of the session, where she had him try to fight her pushing on the leg.

Angelica took care not to overexert Sir Alistair, but still he was sweating slightly at the end of the session. He also wore a pleased expression on his face, almost like a child who was bringing home a good grade for his parents' perusal. Sir Alistair had felt more response from his leg, which he hoped meant that it was getting better.

"That's enough for today, Sir Alistair. I'll be back on Monday for another session. Tomorrow, I want you to walk for about thirty minutes, total. Break it up into five minute blocks, so you don't get fatigued, but the more walking you do, the quicker your leg will improve," Angelica told him as she helped him from the table and handed over his cane.

"What time would you like to return on Monday?" Sir Alistair asked as he began walking over to his desk, where his calendar sat.

"How about 9 in the morning?"

"That would be good, Miss. Thank you."

Angelica folded her table and left then, while Sir Alistair made his way back to his bedroom and slowly undressed. He then took another shower before he put on clean clothes. This time, it was a three piece suit, all in black, along with a crisp white shirt, black tie, black socks and shoes. Taking a look in the mirror by the wardrobe, he gave a slight smile as he took in the image he presented, which was not far removed from that of an undertaker.

Returning to his study, Sir Alistair removed his various files from the drawer where he'd put them and loaded them into a briefcase. Then he slowly made his way downstairs and in to the dining room, where he took his customary seat at the table. Tanya must have heard him coming down the stairs, for she was out of the kitchen and approaching with a cup of tea.

"What would you like for breakfast this morning, Sir Alistair?" Tanya asked.

"A bowl of oatmeal and some fresh fruit, please," Sir Alistair said after a moment.

"Certainly, Sir. Some juice to drink or just the tea?"

"The tea is fine, Tanya. Thank you."

Tanya went back into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with the desired items. Sir Alistair ate slowly, a spoonful of the oatmeal followed by a bit of the fruit. Breakfast had never been his favorite meal of the day, yet he knew its importance. Lunch was what he was craving, with his usual bowl of French onion soup and perhaps a smallish piece of fish to go with it.

When he was finished with his food, Sir Alistair sat back in the chair for a few minutes, his eyes closed. He was taking the time to relax and let him mind flow into different corners. When he felt himself ready, he opened his eyes and stood from the table. Using his cane, he made his way slowly to the front door and on out to the waiting car. Michael didn't need instructions, knowing exactly where they were going. He also knew better than to engage Sir Alistair in an idle conversation during the drive.

Guest Quarters – RAF West Ruislip, England

1053 Greenwich/ 0553 Eastern

Beth smiled at the young Marine assigned to guard their front door. She had taken Jack out for a short walk after breakfast, while Harm had settled in on the couch with his briefcase. He had let a few things pile up until Petty Officer Simpkins had reminded him that the due dates were rapidly approaching. So, he would be spending a nice Saturday inside with paperwork instead of out enjoying the day with his wife and son.

Harm did, however, reflect on how much better he was getting at making sure that the paperwork was done on time. Part of the impetus behind this was the serving of two very different masters. As the FJA, he reported to Admiral Kieso as COMNAVFOREUR. However, as a JAG officer, he simultaneously reported to General Creswell as the JAG. Harm could only reflect on his good fortune that the two roles hadn't yet come into conflict, which much of the responsibility owing to Admiral Kieso. He'd been as good as his word, letting Harm do what was necessary and always supporting him.

General Creswell was a bit tougher on Harm, though. Some of the investigations had exceeded what the General thought they should, both in terms of expense and man-hours. Harm had defended his people, telling the JAG that their duty was justice as opposed to expediency. In most cases, the extra time and expense ultimately showed that the accused was innocent, prompting further investigation and a new hearing.

None of this was to say that General Creswell wasn't interested in justice. Rather, as the man who had to justify these expenses to the SECNAV and CNO, plus convince Congress of the need for additional funds, he wanted to have less additional expenses to fight over. Creswell had been thrilled to learn that the expense of moving the London office to Naples would be borne by NAVFOREUR rather than JAG, as he could then use the contingency funds for other issues, such as his plans to consolidate various JAG offices worldwide. It was one of the things Congress had hit him with at the latest hearing, the perceived overlap in the roles and responsibilities of the various offices. So now, Creswell was working with the senior JAG officers on a plan to change that, which he had hinted at during the conference that had taken place in June.

Harm had not been too surprised at the initial reactions from some of the officers. If not for the fact that the plan left offices like his pretty well alone, he might have had a similar reaction. But Creswell had gone out of his way to dispel some of the negatives by pointing to the long range nature of the plan, with a test program destined to start in San Diego next January. So, there would be plenty of time to get things right, as well as for manning to be reviewed. Still, it would mean fewer higher ranking positions and potential for officers to get confronted with service ceilings.

That was what made the reports Harm was currently working on so important, as they were several of his officers' efficiency reports. These would go a long way towards helping or hurting an officer's chances for promotion, he knew. So, he tended to take his time with them, as well as keep good notes over the course of the year, rather than trying to remember things that might have happened six months ago. He also tried extremely hard so that he didn't allow personal bias to shade the grades he gave. Harm choose to put his faith in the promotions system, feeling that those officers deserving of promotion would get it.

A pair of hands came down gently on his shoulders as he sat there. Looking up, Harm saw Beth standing there with a smile on her face. He also noticed the absence of Jack.

"He's in his room," Beth said in response to his look.

"No doubt tossing his stuffed animals around," Harm told her with a grin.

"I wonder where his destructive tendencies come from."

"You certainly can't be implying that I'm the source of those tendencies?"

"Of course not, dear," Beth replied with a sweet smile that said that was exactly what she was implying, before letting go of his shoulders and coming around the couch to settle in next to him. Harm put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. The happy couple snuggled up against one another, enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet.

As they sat there, Harm thought about Beth's news from yesterday. He had hoped that something could have been found for her in Naples, but he guessed that Rome was the best that her detailer was able to find for her. Still, the thought of a two hour train trip each way every day was not something that he was pleased with. Even worse though was the drive which, depending on when she left either Naples for Rome or the return trip, could take up to four hours one way.

"Are you happy with your career, Beth?" Harm asked, thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Beth asked back, curious as to where this had come from.

"I mean being assigned to the Embassy in Rome, working in the Office of Defense Cooperation. I just feel like you're sacrificing your career for mine, when you should be looking to get retrained now that the Tomcat is going away."

"I can't say that I'm exactly happy, but it is part of the promise we made on our wedding day. For better or for worse. Right now, it is more the worse than the better."

"I've been thinking about my career and your career. I'm half way through my three years as the Force Judge Advocate and who knows what my next assignment might be. If it's something we don't like, I'll be eligible for retirement. You, on the other hand, have a lot a career left in front of you. But you need to start thinking about getting back out to the fleet, I think, or you're going to get left behind," Harm told her.

"God knows I want to get back to flying, but what about Jack? He's not even a year old yet. I can't leave him now," Beth said, thinking of the biggest objection she had to the idea.

"I can understand that, but now would be a good time to do this, instead of waiting until all the old Tomcat NFOs get the best assignments and you're left with whatever is left."

Beth went silent at that statement, recognizing an inherent truth to it that she couldn't rationally argue again. If she wanted to continue flying, she was going to have to find another ride. Currently, it would either be as an Electronic Warfare Officer on an EA-6B Prowler or as a crew member of an E-2 Hawkeye. There was going to be a replacement coming for the Prowler based on the F/A-18 Hornet, but that was a couple of years off. Worse still, when the Navy went from the Prowler to the new plane, it would be reducing the number of EWOs needed from three to one. She had to wonder what that would mean for her career, especially as the new gal in the EWO trade going up against others who were vastly more experienced.

In some ways, she'd be in the same position Harm had been a few years ago, wanting to fly but confronted with the knowledge that he didn't have the hours to be expected for someone his age and rank. The big difference was she had the flight hours, she just would need to make sure she was on top of the new game. Even more, she'd have to convince her superiors that she was.

Harm just sat there and waited, watching her face. He hadn't exactly wanted to bring this up, but he also wanted Beth to be happy. In the last eighteen months, he'd noticed a slight change, as the mindlessness of her post grated on her. He remembered with fondness how animated she'd been when they were together on the Patrick Henry, how the joy of flying had lit up her face and he wanted that light back. The separations would just have to be faced, as well as planned for.

"I'll call my detailer on Monday and see what he thinks about me getting a training slot to transition to a EWO," Beth finally said. "Once I find out more, we'll be able to start making plans."

"Well, I think I should keep Jack with me, especially if you're going to be probably moving around a bit. Maybe look at getting a nanny for him, until we're back together again."

"That makes sense, I guess," Beth said, frowning at the thought of another woman raising her son. Still, she knew there was no way for her to take him with her if she did go through training and Harm would need some help, especially with his being at work during the day.

Jack choose that moment to announce he needed his parents' attention. Beth and Harm got up from the couch and went into the room where their son was. Looking at the mess, Beth could only laugh helplessly, for Jack had proceeded to launch all of his toys out of the playpen and was now rather upset that he had nothing to play with. So, Harm picked up the toys and load them all back into the space around his son. But what really set Beth off was the sight of the little boy tossing the first item he reached back out of the pen while squealing with delight.

However, the laughter stopped as another thought entered her mind. She didn't want to miss moments like this. It was in that moment that she experienced the struggle that millions of women face, the battle between family and career. The only difference between her and most of them was Beth's career would take her thousands of miles from her family for who knew how long. It was definitely something she needed to think about.

Special Branch Interrogation Room – New Scotland Yard, London, England

1155 Greenwich/ 0655 Eastern

The scene of today's little drama was well set. Taleb was sitting at the table, alongside an attorney that had been provided for him. On the table sat a glass pitcher filled with water, along with three glasses. Sir Alistair had been watching for several minutes from behind the one-way window, waiting to see if either man would help themselves to a drink. Neither elected to do so, nor did they even speak to one another. Sir Alistair knew that Taleb had his suspicions about whether the water was drugged or not, as well as being suspicious of the lawyer as well.

After another moment, Sir Alistair picked up the files and left the observation room. He counted to ten slowly, then opened the door to the interview room and walked through. He went to his side of the table and sat down, well aware that both men's eyes were firmly on him. As he looked up, he could see a certain surprise in both pairs, for clearly they were not expecting someone like him.

"Good afternoon, Mister Taleb," Sir Alistair said courteously in Arabic. He was rewarded by seeing the man's eyes widen slightly in further surprise. He then continued in English. "And good afternoon to you as well, Mister Rhodes."

Sir Alistair then laid the folders on the table, their labels plainly visible to the other two men, though they were more for show than any real need. He was all too conscious of the eyes that watched his every move, not just in the room but the other room as well.

"Anwar Taleb. Born Cairo, Egypt on April 9, 1956. Your father is deceased, killed for his part in the assassination of President Sadat in 1981. Your mother and two sisters still live in Cairo, your younger brother Aziz died in prison after being convicted of various charges due to his ties to the Islamic Group. You fled Egypt in 1983 just before you were due to be arrested and went to Afghanistan as part of the jihad against the Soviets. While in Afghanistan, you met and became close to both Osama bin Laden and Sadik Fahd. You moved up in the organization and became involved in planning attacks, including the US Embassy bombings in 1998."

"Now, before we have our little chat, I must caution you, Mister Rhodes, that I am not here in an attempt to get information from your client. I simply wish to apprise both him and you of what is going to be happening in the next few days. See, we already know everything we need to know about your client, his role in the recent terrorist attacks here in London and we're well on our way to knowing who the bombers were. So, there isn't anything we're particularly interested in with your client."

"And when will my client be charged with any specific crime?" Mister Rhodes asked, stunned by the way this was going, as well as the speed of it all. He had hoped for some room to maneuver for his client, only to find there was none.

"Actually, he won't be. Following conversations between the Foreign Secretary and the Home Secretary, it has been decided that the best solution would be to simply deport him as undesirable back to Egypt. We have spoken with the Egyptian government and they are going to make arrangements to take Mister Taleb into custody sometime in the next few days. They are also picking up your mother and sisters for questioning," Sir Alistair said, a slight smile coming to his face as he saw the moment the words clicked with Taleb.

"But there is much that I can tell you," Taleb said from his seat, his voice rising.

"About what? We know you are connected to the bombings, we have your fingerprints in the flat in Leads as well as video of you and a couple of the bombers walking together while having a chat. We found additional evidence in the safe house we captured you at, suggesting there were additional attacks in at least the planning stages. But that doesn't matter because we've stopped those attacks and we can't go back and undo the past."

"What we can do is what the government has decided to do, which is to keep the full extent of the attacks a secret. We'll also score a few points with our friends in Egypt by turning over a fugitive to them and we don't have to keep you in one of our prisons, feeding you while you try to recruit new men to your jihad," Sir Alistair finished before going to stand up.

"But I can help you? I know things!"

"Mister Taleb, what could you possibly know that would be of interest to my government? And don't try to sell me on the idea that you know where Osama bin Laden is. We know you don't, otherwise you'd be in hiding as well, rather than here in London."

"How about Sadik Fahd? I know where he is hiding," Taleb said anxiously. He well knew the fate that awaited him in an Egyptian prison and over the years, the idea of martyrdom had lost its appeal to him. Now, he wanted to live and if the price of that was finding another who could take his place before death, then so be it. And that didn't even speak to the chill that had run through him when the man had mentioned his mother and sisters being interrogated by the Egyptian authorities, for Taleb knew full well what that meant.

"Yes, I think my government might be interesting in such information. However, any deal would of course be completely dependent on the verification of the information you provide us. So, Mister Taleb, where is your old friend?" Sir Alistair asked, looking the terrorist directly in the eyes.

"He's in a compound near Peshawar, Pakistan. Many of the senior Al Qaeda leadership have taken to using Pakistan as a hiding place. They know the Americans won't be able to strike them there, because they are trying to make the Pakistani government their allies. All the while, many members of the government and military secretly support and protect the very people the Americans are looking for."

Sir Alistair was not surprised by the statement. He'd long known that the aid they were receiving from many governments in the Middle East in their fight against Islamic terrorists was at best mere lip service. The reason was very simple, really. These governments were walking a tightrope, with the West on the one side and their own peoples on the other, many of whom supported what Al Qaeda was doing. Lean too far towards the West and there was the possibility of the people rising up against them. Lean too far towards the radicals and risk economic disruptions or worse from the West.

"Tell me everything you know about this compound, Mister Taleb."

With that command, Taleb started singing. It was a good two hours before the man finally began to wind down. By this time, Sir Alistair had several pages covered with notes. Yet, these had been taken just for show, as the entire interview was being recorded and transcribed in the observation room. C stood there, a broad smile on his face, one that was matched by both the head of the Security Service and the CIA's liaison to SIS, who had just gotten off the telephone with Langley with a request for immediate priority satellite imagery of the area around Peshawar.

CIA Operations Center – Langley, Virginia

1153 Eastern/ 1653 Greenwich

The KH-11 satellite was coming into position now, following a repositioning of platform. The lead analyst was getting the various systems online, so that he could be ready when they were over the target area. The problem was the target area was fairly large and they had nothing to narrow the area down. So, today was all about getting some detailed imagery of the area, looking for anything that could potentially remove items for their watch list.

The one good thing they had going for them was the target was a compound. That meant that small homes and buildings could be essentially removed for consideration. They were looking for a walled structure with a decent sized home. They would keep bigger places on the board, but he doubted very much that those would be where their target was. Too big called too much attention to the place. This would be someone who wanted to blend in while also having an amount of security as well.

"Coming up on the first point now, boss," one of his team called out.

Looking at his monitor, he began to see the outlying areas of Peshawar. Next, he called up the display, which featured such things as a compass arrow showing which way north was and a clock telling them how long the KH-11 would be on station. Taking control of the camera, he zoomed in until he could make out things like walls and have an idea of structure size.

The lead analyst and the rest of his team were in a race with the clock, trying to get as much data as they could before the clock reached zero. After the satellite passed out of range would be the time to go back over the imagery. The camera was constantly moving for one place to the next, getting its pictures as the team worked a grid pattern that they had laid out on a map of the area in the hour before the satellite would be ready.

As the team worked, another team was also working on the problem from a slightly different place. Director Kershaw sat in his office, talking with the head of the National Clandestine Service's Special Activities Division. They had been joined by the Commander of the Joint Special Operations Command. On the small conference table in front of them was a map of Afghanistan and Pakistan, which they were using to come up with basic ideas. Once they had a concept that seemed possible, they would then fly down to Fort Bragg and have JSOC's planners get to work, refining the idea into something that was doable.

"It's going to have to be helicopters if we're sending a team in," the head of the Special Activities Division, Bryan Davidson, said.

"We could do a HAHO drop," offered Lieutenant General Cranston.

"Pure suicide, in my opinion. There are just too many factors against it, not to mention the whole issue of getting the team out after they do the mission."

"Helicopters aren't much better. Slow and noisy means the Pakistanis will be on to us long before we're ready to fly back out."

"Come on, I need ideas here, not problems," Director Kershaw said.

"Director, we're looking at roughly an hour each way and that's straight line. No way is the mission going straight line, so that means even more time. And that doesn't even consider the time on the ground or anything cropping up along the way. I'll say it again, too slow. The goal is quick strike, not pitched battle with the Pakistani military," Davidson replied shaking his head.

"There is another option," General Cranston said, a thought forming. "We could try a sniper team. Two men are a bit easier to slip into the country than a full assault package. Before we consider it, though, we need more information on where Sadik Fahd is exactly."

"We've got some assets in Pakistan. The problem is, we need to be very careful because the Brits have already lost 3 agents looking for Sadik."

"Well, it's difficult to make a plan when we don't have a clue as to where the objective is, what type of building we're going to be hitting, what's around it that we could maybe use as a hide for the sniper and his spotter if we go that route. We need intelligence or we're dead in the water."

"General, I agree with you completely. But dead agents aren't going to bring back that information. We need our guys to blend in, look and act like they belong so they stay off the radar of either Al Qaeda or ISI," Director Kershaw said, using the acronym for the Pakistani Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence. "Especially ISI."

"Why especially, Director?" General Cranston asked.

"Because ISI can do a lot more damage by going public, General. Even though they're ostensibly our allies in the fight against Al Qaeda, there are still those within ISI who wouldn't be any happier finding a CIA team snooping in their country than we would be finding their agents doing similar things over here. They could then either quietly tell Al Qaeda, if their sympathies flow that way, or they could just release the information to the press, along with pictures, which would put a giant bull's-eye on the agents' backs."

The other two men shared a look at that. Their people, when they were out in the field, went armed and ready. What Director Kershaw had just described was a nightmare scenario to them: basically being stuck in the middle of bad guy land without a weapon and a long way from friends. When that happened, those guys were as good as dead.

Shenandoah National Park – Virginia

1138 Eastern/ 1638 Greenwich

Mattie was beginning to get slightly uncomfortable laying on the ground, but she wasn't about to complain. Not with Debbie laying in much the same position next to her, while also staring through her camera's viewfinder. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous, Mattie thought, as the two of them lay at the edge of a clearing, watching for anything that might happen. The trees were massive and she could hear birds singing overhead.

The duo had arrived here just before first light, meaning that it had been an earlier than normal morning for Mattie. Yet it had been well worth it, as the sun had risen and the light had brightened the clearing and the trees beyond. Evidently Debbie had thought the scene inspirational enough to snap several pictures of it. They soon saw a deer flit across the far edge of the clearing, heading towards one of the little rivers that cut through the park. Debbie wasn't sure if she'd been able to capture the image and wouldn't know until she got home and developed the negatives.

After that, it was just a long morning out in nature. Now, however, Debbie was beginning to sense that Mattie was growing restless. She'd been like that too when she'd first started out and it had taken years of work to get to the point where she could just lay there, waiting for that one picture that might not even happen. Just as she was about to call it a day, Debbie saw a young rabbit dashing across the clearing. Taking a second to focus, she snapped off a dozen photos as she saw the falcon enter the picture and snatch up the prey. When it was done, she looked over at Mattie who had a look of shock on her face.

"Did you know that was going to happen?" Mattie asked. "Is that why you started taking pictures?"

"I thought it was possible," Debbie said carefully. She'd seen it enough times to have had a very good idea of what was going to occur.

"So, what? Just take pictures while that defenseless little bunny gets killed?"

"Oh, Mattie. There's a beauty to it, because the falcon needs to kill in order to survive. A couple hundred years ago, man needed to do the same thing, before we had ranches raising cattle for beef and farms raising chickens and pigs for eggs and bacon. Man went out and hunted deer and elk and buffalo and rabbits, whatever it took to fill the pot come supper time."

"So, that bunny was just dinner?" Mattie asked.

"More like, that was a dumb bunny. The smarter ones know to skirt the clearing, to stay somewhat hidden. Some of them still get caught by the predators, but not as often as the young ones who go out in the open."

Mattie lay there for a few moments, thinking about what Debbie had said and the sense that it made. The falcon had to eat too. She just wished she hadn't seen what the bird's dinner was going to be, thinking about the bunny as well. Debbie, for her part, elected to keep silent as she gathered up her equipment and got ready for them to leave. This was something that the teen was going to have to come to terms with on her own, just as she had done years ago


	11. Chapter 11

Secret Intelligence Service Headquarters – London, England

1808 Greenwich/ 1308 Eastern

C was sitting at the head of the small conference table in his office, joined by Sir Alistair, the head of the Security Service and the Director of Special Forces. On the center of the table was a secure speakerphone that was presently tied to Director Kershaw's office in Langley. Kershaw was briefing the men on what actions the CIA had taken and was taking based on the information that Taleb had provided. The threat to both countries was such that both sides were moving forward as rapidly as possible.

The Director of Special Forces had agreed that a large-scale assault was out of the question, without at least the cooperation of the Pakistani military. Otherwise, the men on the ground ran the risk of being overrun. However, he also understood the risks involved in letting the Pakistanis know what they knew. He did not, though, share the Americans enthusiasm with the employment of a sniper team. For a target this highly valued, a degree of certainty was essential and the Brigadier just did not see that with such a long distance shot.

Sir Alistair did see it. He saw it as the only realistic option, if Sadik stayed holed up in his compound. However, if they could get the man out in the open, then all sorts of possibilities might present themselves. That would be a trick though, one that he would have to think about. It would have to be subtle, while also being believable. The nagging question was whether he would be given enough time to think this through, given that others had control over the timeframe.

Another thought popped to the surface of his thoughts, though. He was still wondering how Sadik and Al Qaeda knew where Captain Rabb was and was going to be when they launched their attacks. Leaning forward, he softly cleared his throat before speaking.

"Harrison, have your people had any success in determining how Al Qaeda got access to Captain Rabb's movements?"

"We've narrowed it down somewhat, as far as when he was going on leave and when he was due to return. We dug into the Navy's computer systems, no breaches there, so we knew it had to be an internal leak. We checked both NAVFOREUR and JAG HQ and cleared the personnel there who would have dealt with the leave request. That turned our attention to the Bureau of Personnel and that's where we're at right now. The problem is, too many people can access the leave system on that end and any one of them could be the leak, not to mention that others in the Office of the Secretary of the Navy and the CNO's office also have access and they all need to be cleared," Kershaw responded.

"Please keep your people digging on that, Harrison. I think that finding the source of the probable leak could be very important," Sir Alistair said.

"I take it you're not just thinking about shutting off the flow of critical intelligence to Al Qaeda when you say that?"

"No. I think, if we all play our cards right, that we could actually have a means of passing along some disinformation to our enemies. Perhaps enough so that we could flush our friend Sadik out of hiding and maneuver him into a place where we can take him much easier than we can at present."

C looked down the table at the old man, a wry smile crossing his face as he did so. Over the course of time, he had learned never to underestimate the brain buried behind the unassuming façade. And that brain was what was desperately needed at the moment.

"What are you thinking, Sir Alistair?"

"I'm thinking about ways and means to get our friend Sadik to leave his compound in Peshawar. And if he were to leave, where would he go? A different location in Pakistan? Back into Afghanistan? Or somewhere else, perhaps one of the Gulf states?"

"My money is on a new hide somewhere in Pakistan," C said, with agreement coming from Kershaw as well.

"Exactly, which means we've achieved nothing except losing the element of surprise. Unless we can convince Sadik that Pakistan is no longer safe, that the Pakistanis are willing to look the other way while we either grab him or kill him. Then, he's got to get out of the country. Afghanistan isn't much better from his point of view, since the Americans have a strong presence there and can take him as soon as he's found. So, what do we have then?" Sir Alistair asked with a wolfish grin.

"He has to take a flight," the Director of Special Forces said, with a tone of someone stating the blatantly obvious.

"Exactly! And if he's going to one of the Gulf States direct from Pakistan, then that flight will most likely fly over Afghanistan or the Indian Ocean. In either event, within range of American fighter aircraft which can intercept the plane and force it to land where we want it to."

"What do you think the chances are of such a plan working, Sir Alistair?" C asked.

"If properly planned, and by that I mean that we build a very convincing tale, I think we're looking at about 80 percent. The problems are human nature and the fact that there are two directions he could go where we couldn't follow," Sir Alistair said.

"There's more than that, Sir Alistair," the Director of Special Forces put in. "For this to work, Sadik needs to be in international airspace or in the airspace of a country that will allow us to force down his aircraft. Just looking at the map tells me we not going to find a country willing to let us do that. I say that we have to locate him where he is and take him there. His moving risks us losing him again."

"Then, Brigadier, I suggest you come up with a plan that doesn't involve the invasion of our ally by a regiment, which would be political suicide for the government, and isn't as chancy as a single long-range sniper shot. Because if we miss that shot, he'll run and we're back to square one with finding him."

With that, Sir Alistair got up from the table and began to slowly walk from the conference room. They needed options and sitting here dithering wasn't going to get them.

July 11, 2005

Force Judge Advocate's Office – London, England

0705 Greenwich/ 0205 Eastern

Harm sat at his desk, reviewing the files that Simpkins had left for him. Several new cases had come in over the weekend, which he would have to assign to the various staff today. In addition to those were the routine administrative matters that he'd been working on over the weekend. His notes and responses were ready to be typed up and submitted, which is what he would be doing most of the day. It wasn't that he didn't trust Simpkins, but rather that anything dealing with personnel and their performance reviews was confidential. Harm wasn't going to take a chance that something might slip out.

In addition to those things, he also needed to approve the plans for the drawdown of the office and the order of movement to Naples. Harm had already made the decision that he would be in the last group to go, to insure that everything was done before the last man left. Besides, the Naples office was already partial staffed and the move wasn't going to require his presence to get the office up and running.

Harm reached for the coffee mug on the desk and took a sip before turning his attention to the computer. With that, he got comfortable and grabbed the stack of papers. He considered himself an adequate typist, certainly not someone on the level of some of the yeomen and others who made their living with their keyboard skills. So, Harm went slowly, often stopping and checking his spelling and punctuation, since the program for the performance reviews didn't have anything as remotely user-friendly as a spell-checker.

Harm had managed to get three completed before Simpkins called him over the intercom to remind him about staff call. He saved his work and then locked his computer before putting the papers away in his desk and locking the drawer. After that, he gathered up the new cases and proceeded to the conference room. When he entered the room, he immediately called out "At ease" before taking his place at the head of the table. Four officers sat facing him, a lieutenant commander, two lieutenants and a lieutenant junior grade fresh from NJS.

Harm had to fight to keep the smile off his face as he looked at one of the lieutenant's in particular. Jason Tiner was turning into every bit of the young lawyer Harm had hoped he'd be. At times, he couldn't help comparing Lieutenant Tiner to Lieutenant Bud Roberts. Both of them were bright, eager to please and capable of understanding things that left Harm's head hurting. Yet, where a young Bud had been socially awkward, Tiner displayed little of that. Harm believed that was due to the years he had spent as Admiral Chegwidden's yeoman.

Bringing his thoughts back to the here and now, Harm picked up the first case file and examined it for a moment.

"Lieutenant Handley, this investigation is all yours," Harm said, catching the surprise on the young woman's face as he slid the folder to her. "A boatswain's mate second class on liberty off the USS Normandy decided to enliven the evenings of several dozen people by racing a motorcycle through the streets of Portsmouth. When the local authorities arrested him, he was drunk and disorderly and attempted to express his displeasure at having his activities interrupted by trying to assault the arresting officer."

"Any damages, Sir?" Gwendolyn Handley asked as she picked up the folder.

"Thankfully, no. Though how that was avoided is beyond me, after reading the report. So, you're to head down to Portsmouth, review the evidence against him and then decide if charges are warranted and if so, what charges."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Lieutenant Tiner, you get this one. A Chief Information Systems Technician aboard the USS Patrick Henry is being accused of Espionage. NCIS has the lead on this, but given the serious nature of the charges, General Creswell wants our office to run a joint investigation," Harm said as he slid the next folder over. "The Patrick Henry is nearing Gibraltar en route to Norfolk. Get with Simpkins for your orders and itinerary to join up with her."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Tiner said.

"Be careful, Lieutenant. This promises to be a rather large mire and several very important people are watching. So, make sure of your evidence before doing anything and don't let the NCIS agents push you into doing anything before you're ready."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Commander Hoiles and Lieutenant Walker, how goes the Archer Article 32?" Harm asked the other pair of officers. He would have preferred to send Hoiles on the investigation aboard the Patrick Henry, but couldn't while the Archer case was ongoing.

"It's going to be in Commander Bly's hands by end of the day, Sir," Hoiles answered for the pair of them. "I believe Lieutenant Walker has one more witness scheduled before concluding her case."

"Correct, Sir," Annette Walker said.

"Good work. In the event that the case goes to trial, how soon can you be ready, Commander?"

"A couple of days, at most."

"Good, then I'll have Legalman One Coates put in on the docket to start on Friday, tentatively," Harm said, fixing both officers with an equal gaze. As far as he was concerned, this case should have been plead out, unless Commander Hoiles was aware of something that he wasn't. Lieutenant Archer had been caught, virtually in the act, having an affair with his commanding officer's wife. There were witnesses to numerous occasion of the two of them being together in places and at time that were highly suspicious and he had been seen leaving his CO's quarters one night well past one in the morning.

The only words that Lieutenant Archer had spoken, other than to his defense counsel, had been to the NCIS agents who had arrested him. And even then, it had simply been a request for a lawyer. After that, he had stayed silent. What made things interesting, however, was that Archer's commanding officer had been less than completely cooperative with the case. So much so, in fact, that Harm had had to contact the man and threaten him with charges of impeding an official investigation. The wife had said nothing and given that she was a civilian, JAG couldn't push her too hard.

"One last thing, everyone. As you're all aware, we're two months out from the move to Naples. That being said, I would appreciate it if you would all begin getting things packed up and ready to depart. Also, keep all of your case files up to date and together, so that nothing gets lost in the process. On August 1, I plan for Lieutenants Tiner and Walker to depart for Naples, along with approximately half the enlisted staff. The rest of us will depart on September 1. Any questions?"

Harm looked around the room for a couple of moments, waiting but not really expecting anything. The whole staff had been well aware of the pending movement and as things had gotten closer, he had noticed that the office was looking slightly more barren as various things were put away. All the old files had been shipped out in May, so that only the most current items remained.

Standing, Harm left the conference room and headed back to his office. Entering, he sighed softly as he saw the small mountain of paperwork awaiting his attention. As he sat down, Harm could only sadly reflect on how much he missed being out there, rather than trapped in here. With an air of resignation, he sat down behind the desk and pulled the first folder to him.

Office of Defense Cooperation, US Embassy – London, England

1348 Greenwich/ 0848 Eastern

Beth sat at her desk, waiting for the other end of the line to be picked up. She had decided to call early, or at least early for the recipient of the call. She could only hope that her detailer was at his desk already and not trying to hold banker's hours.

"Bureau of Personnel, Commander Dawkins, Sir," came a pleasant voice, one that still brought a smile to Beth's face.

"Good morning, Commander Dawkins. This is Commander Rabb, calling from beautiful London," Beth said with a grin that was readily apparent in her voice.

"Well, good morning to you too, Beth. Twice in under a week that I've heard from you, that can't be good."

"Come on, Dee Dee, I just need my favorite detailer to work a little magic on her computer and answer some questions for me. I mean, isn't that what your job is?"

"For any other officer, sure. For you, I'll have to think about it," came a laughing answer. Beth had first met then Lieutenant JG Denise Dawkins in flight school, when they'd been assigned student quarters together. The pair had become fast friends, helping each other through the program. After graduation from Primary training, they had split up. Beth had gone into jets and eventually on to the F-14, while Dee Dee had elected to go into Maritime Command and Control and eventually the E-6B. "Alright, I thought about it. What can I do for you, Beth?"

"I was wondering when the next EWO training class started and what you thought about my going there instead of to Rome?" Beth asked.

"Honest answer?" Denise asked back.

"Always, Dee Dee."

"I can get you the slot, no problem. But, as a career move, I'm not so sure. Especially when the EA-6 gets phased out of service and takes a whole host of EWO positions off the board. I've already got a couple of EWOs talking to me about their next career path."

"Still, from everything I've heard, the EA-6s will still be in fleet service until 2012. So, that gives me seven years. By then, I could be a Commander, at least. Besides, being an NFO is all I really know," Beth said.

"Well, try this on for size. NFOs are also needed aboard a number of other planes," Denise told her.

"You're not talk about one of the flying buses, are you?"

Denise had to fight to keep the smile off her face, as she thought about the numerous joking arguments the two of them had had about the land-based aircraft in the Navy's inventory. Beth had always maintained that the men and women who flew those weren't really naval aviators, but mere pilots with the same skill set as those in the Air Force.

"Beth, take a step back and think, will you? Sure, the Prowlers will be in the fleet for another decade, more or less, but then what? You're about year away for being considered for promotion to Commander and that's another problem for you, because you haven't served a tour as XO or Weapons Officer, so you can't be considered for a CO slot."

"So what are you saying, Dee Dee? That I'm done flying?" Beth asked, stunned.

"Not necessarily, but I think you need to be considering what's next in your career. One of the reasons I suggested that teaching assignment at Annapolis was to hopefully give you a couple of years to find that something else. Then you had to go and get married on me and mess up all that planning," Denise said, a laugh in her voice to take any potential sting out of her words.

"Oh, so sorry my personal life inconvenienced you," Beth said, sarcastically.

"Anyways, now we're having to rush things somewhat. So, here's my suggestion, for what it's worth. The XO slot for the VF-213 is open. They'll be aboard USS Theodore Roosevelt starting in September for a six-month deployment to the Persian Gulf. The slot is yours if you want it. Then, when you come back, we get you into a slot for EWO training, if that's the way you want to go. After that, we can try and get you a Squadron command, if you get your silver leaf."

Beth sat back and thought about what Dee Dee was laying out for her. As she did, she started to smile and nod her head. That would work, she thought.

"When do I need to report and where?"

"VF-213 is based at NAS Oceana and you'll need to get there no later than August 1," Denise said. "That way, you have a month to do the handover with the outgoing XO and get back up to speed on the aircraft."

"Thanks, Dee Dee," was all Beth could say.

"That's what we simple detailers are here for."

"Nobody's ever been able to accuse you of being simple. No, it was more like devious."

The two women shared a hearty laugh before they ended the call. Beth then called Harm to let him know about her new orders. The couple would have a lot to do in the next couple of weeks to get things arranged, especially someone to help with little Jack.

Sir Alistair's Home – London, England

1726 Greenwich/ 1226 Eastern

Emily walked up the front steps to her grandfather's house, a happy smile plastered across her lips. Victor was a couple of paces behind her, having had to get the bag from the trunk of the car. He and Emily had each taken a half day today, so that they could get out to West Ruislip. There, both of them had been subjected to physicals before proceeding to meet with the base chaplain and set up appointments for premarital counseling.

The chaplain, a Methodist minister, had known Father Martin and after a brief telephone call, he approved the couple going to their own Priest for the counseling. Father Martin would call the minister and keep him informed of the progress and once completed, an official memo would be sent up the chain of command.

Now, Emily and Victor were going to visit her grandfather. He had called earlier and asked them to come for dinner. They had stopped along the way to pick up a bottle of wine, as a thank you gift. Before Emily could knock at the door, Michael was already opening it and smiling a greeting.

"Your grandfather is in the study, Miss. He asks that you join him there and dinner will be served at 1830," Michael said.

"Thank you, Michael. Could you give this to Tanya," Emily said as she took the bag from Victor and handed it to her grandfather's bodyguard.

"Certainly, Miss."

Emily and Victor then proceeded up the stairs and on to the study. Going inside, she found her grandfather seated in a club chair, his feet up on a leather foot stool. In his lap was a copy of the Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War', with a page marked. Judging by the condition of the book, Victor guessed that it was often reread by the old man. Seeing them enter, Sir Alistair slowly got up from the chair after setting the book on a side table. He embraced Emily and shook hands with Victor, before leading them back over to the sitting area.

"How have you been today, Grandfather?" Emily asked.

"Very well, thank you. The therapist came this morning and worked some more with me, then I went for a walk before lunch. After lunch, I worked for a little while, then took another short walk. Now, I'm reading. How about you two? Anything exciting doing?" Sir Alistair asked.

"No, just the ordinary. We went to get a physical done on Emily for us to get married and we've scheduled premarital counseling with Father Martin. We're to have our first meeting tomorrow night," Victor replied. "Other than that, just making sure everything is secure at the Embassy."

"And have you made any decisions on the actual wedding?"

"Well, we're thinking a small wedding. Either here or in New Mexico. Definitely in a church, either way. You'll have to get your tuxedo ready, because I want you to give me away."

"I would be honored to," Sir Alistair told her, smiling at his granddaughter. "And what about the honeymoon?"

"That's not been decided. Probably somewhere private," Victor said, looking over at Emily who was blushing slightly.

"If you're interested, I happen to know someplace that would meet those requirements rather nicely."

"You're thinking of the estate, Grandfather?" Emily asked.

"Yes. It's secluded and private," Sir Alistair replied as Emily nodded.

"What's the estate?"

"It's our family home in Scotland, Victor. Mind you, it's been vacant for a number of years, apart from the occasional family vacations. Oh, mind you, I have a couple of women from the village come out weekly to dust and such, so that if I do decide to go there, it's always more or less ready for me."

"It's sort of like your mother's home in Taos, Victor, where the nearest neighbor is a good distance away. Just that, it's in the middle of some of the greenest country you can imagine. There's a small river that runs along the property, so if you got bored, you could go fishing," Emily said with a grin.

"Oh, yes, plenty of trout and salmon for you to catch," Sir Alistair added, knowing full well that there was little chance Victor would be doing any fishing on his honeymoon.

Victor had to laugh at the pair of them, as if a man on his honeymoon was going to go fishing. His thoughts were more focused on spending as much time with Emily as he could, without anything disturbing them. The cell phones would stay at home, wherever they ended up going. Their time would be spent sitting and talking, about the future and starting a family. Victor wanted at least one child, though two or three would be even better.

"So, back to the wedding," Sir Alistair said. "Have you any idea as to how soon you'll be able to get married?"

"Captain Hailey started things moving on Emily's background check. As for the counseling, Father Martin said four weeks on that, since he was already well aware of our desires to be married and why we aren't yet. So, if the physical comes back clean, I would think we'll be able to have the wedding by October at the latest," Victor replied.

"And will you be able to get everything planned in just a couple of months?"

"I don't see why not, Grandfather," Emily replied. "It's going to be a small church wedding, just immediate family and close friends. Probably just a couple of attendants each, nothing extravagant."

"My thoughts are my Uncle Carlos as my best man and my old partner, Billy Ironhorse, as the other groomsman. So, you just need a maid of honor and another attendant, darling."

Emily went silent for a moment, trying to think of who she could ask. Most of her friends on the job were men and the few women she was friendly with weren't close friends. Really, her closest friend was her partner and it just felt weird to ask him. Oh, if only things with her family were normal, she could ask one of her sisters. But no, there was nothing to be gained by letting her thoughts wander down that path.

"I guess I could ask Maria to be my maid of honor and maybe Valerie to be my other attendant," Emily said, thinking.

"Well, I'm sure they would be thrilled to be asked, but what about your friends?" Victor asked her.

"I don't have a lot of friends. Most of the ones from my university days, well, we've drifted apart. The few friends I do have are guys and I just think it would be a little weird to ask one of them."

"That takes care of the wedding party," Sir Alistair said with a smile. "Now, why don't we continue this lovely talk over our suppers? Tanya has promised me grilled Salmon and roasted potatoes, followed by some chocolate cake for dessert."

Getting up from the chair, Sir Alistair took his cane in hand and led the way from the study down to the dining room. Three places were set at the table, near enough to each other that conversation would be easy while spaced out to give each person some elbow room. He settled at the head of the table, while Emily and Victor took seats on each side of him. Scarcely had they been seated before the door to the kitchen opened and Tanya came out with a tray. It was loaded with three dinner plates, which she placed before them.

Victor smiled appreciatively at Tanya as he saw the generous piece of Salmon on the plate. It was joined by several small potatoes and also some asparagus. Once all three of them were served, Tanya went into the kitchen, almost immediately returning with a bottle of wine. Victor and Sir Alistair each had a glass, while Emily asked for a glass of water. She was driving, after all, and it would not do her career any good to end up with an accident because she was driving while impaired.

"It sounds like you have the wedding as well in hand as possible without knowing where," Sir Alistair said, going back to their previous conversation.

"Victor, I think we should get married in Taos," Emily said. She'd finally just made the decision.

"Are you sure?" Victor asked.

"Positive. Almost everyone who's going to be at the wedding is there, not here. If we go there, only Grandfather, my partner Jack and maybe a handful of friends have to fly across. The other way around would probably take up half a 777 to get all the people over here, not to mention all the hotel rooms."

Victor just laughed at the grin on Emily's face, though he did see her point. And then there was the fact that getting married there would mean that they could be married in the same church as his parents and grandparents. As for where to have the reception, maybe out at Uncle Carlos' place. There was plenty of room behind the big house to put up a very large tent, as well as the kitchen was big enough to hopeful handle getting the meal ready.

"If that's settled, then we can start making arrangements to fly over," Sir Alistair said. "Once you finalize the date, of course."

"Wedding in New Mexico, honeymoon in Scotland," Emily said.

The rest of the evening was taken up chatting about various topics, almost anything other than the recent terrorist attack or the wedding. The liveliest of topics was Sir Alistair talking about the Second World War. He steered clear of the actual battles he'd been a part of, but rather talked about the lives of everyday people during that time. The rationing, the threat of German bombing and the failures of Chamberlain against the inspirational presence of Churchill. Still, Sir Alistair told them how near the Allies had been to defeat in 1940 and even 1941. It was only the mistakes of Hitler and the entry of the United States into the conflict that had tipped the balance.

Emily and Victor listened as he spoke, asking questions frequently. It was nearly midnight when things broke up and Emily drove them home. Both of them knew they'd be tired in the morning, but they had each enjoyed spending time with the old man.

Director Kershaw's Office – Langley, Virginia

2310 Greenwich/ 1810 Eastern

Kershaw was just getting up from behind his desk, having locked the drawers in preparation for leaving for the day. The night staff was well briefed on what was currently going on and the few things that should be brought to his immediate attention. Other than that, he was looking forward to a relaxing evening at home.

A knock at the door halted his progress, as he sat back down before calling for the person outside to enter. Catherine Gale came in, followed by a younger gentleman who looked slightly nervous at being in the boss' office. Catherine approached the desk and sat in one of the chairs, while the man settled in more cautiously in the other.

"Good evening, Catherine. Something come up?" Kershaw asked, eyeing the thick folder in her hands.

"Something in the Rabb case, Sir. I think we may have found our mole," Catherine said as she opened the folder and removed a clipped together set of documents, handing them across the desk.

"Lay it out for me."

"We've finished going through the backgrounds of everyone at BUPERS. Only two people warranted a second look, one for financial reasons and the other is part-Lebanese. The one with the money, turned out his grandfather just passed away and left him some sort of trust fund. The Lebanese, turned out his family isn't Muslim but Christian and that's why they fled the country."

"So, nobody at JAG is the mole. Where'd you look next?" Kershaw asked.

"DON. Kyle here got into their intranet and pulled the access logs for specific files. One name popped up that shouldn't have, at least not as often as it did," Catherine said, nodding to the young man next to here.

"Amal Azzam is a personal assistant to the Secretary of the Navy. She has the necessary clearance to access the files, granted, but no reason to have kept going back to the same files over and over again. Add to that the fact that she's originally from Kuwait and her family still has ties there," Kyle Lawton said.

"Yes, I see. But before I go to SECNAV and tell him his personal assistant is a mole of Al Qaeda, I'll need more than just that she's from Kuwait."

"There's more, Sir. Once we started looking, we found some other things. Firstly, she accessed the file of Captain Rabb two days before the attempt on his life here in the States. Kyle hacked into her personal computer and examined her browser history. She's frequented several sites that we've linked to Al Qaeda, as well as some weird message boards."

"What kind of message boards?" Kershaw asked.

"One was for Porsches, yet she doesn't own one. I examined the posting and linked several back to her IP address. See page 5 for the most interesting one," Kyle said.

Kershaw turned to that page and read the message, the same one that had let Taleb know that Rabb and his family were going to have protection in London. His eyes looked up and then back down to the page as he read it a second time.

"Note the date of that message, Sir," Catherine said. "Now, can you think of a logical explanation for someone who doesn't own a Porsche and isn't going to be traveling outside the United States to put up a message about shipping such a car to the United Kingdom? Because my only conclusion is that this is a code of some form and is most likely intended to let Al Qaeda know that when Rabb returned to London, Marines would be guarding him."

Kershaw leaned back in his chair and put his hands together behind his head, trying to see any faults in their logic. It all came down to a simple thing, the fact that none of this made a bit of sense. The question then became, what to do with the information. The CIA was expressly forbidden from operating within the United States, yet this woman was a potential gold mine of information as well as a means of passing misinformation on to Al Qaeda. He didn't want to lose that, if he could avoid it. Making a decision, he reached for the phone and dialed a number from memory.

"Morrow," came a quick answer.

"Tom, Harrison Kershaw."

"And what can NCIS do for the CIA today, Director?"

"More like what we might be able to do for each other. You're familiar with the situation involving Captain Harmon Rabb?" Kershaw asked rhetorically.

"Yes, I am," Morrow said. "Have you got something?"

"A possible mole in the office of the SECNAV, one feeding information to Al Qaeda."

"Damn! Give me the wherefores and evidence and we can have them in custody in no time."

"That's not what I'm exactly looking for, Tom. Rather, I'd like to quietly take her and have a conversation, with the end being her coming to work for us. So, I need your best team here in DC, one that can work quickly and quietly, so that her handlers don't notice a thing. Now, do you have somebody like that?" Kershaw asked.

"Yes, I do," Morrow replied. "Gibbs is the agent you want for this. When do you want him and where?"

"Tomorrow morning, have him meet me at the SECNAV's office at 9 am. I'll call Sheffield and make an appointment to see him. Once I fill him in, Gibb will arrest the suspect and we'll quietly take her someplace where we can talk. If all goes well, we can have her back in place before the end of the work day."

"Well, if anyone can get her to talk, it would be Gibbs. Don't know how he does it, but he is very good at breaking suspects."

"Excellent. I'll send over all our material, so that your agent can read it and get ready. Thanks, Tom," Kershaw said.

"No. Thank you, Harrison," Morrow said before he hung up.

Kershaw looked at the others and nodded. "Send everything over to NCIS, care of an Agent Gibbs. And I do mean everything."

"Yes, Sir," Catherine said before standing. Kyle took his cue from her and stood as well, following her out of the office. Ten minutes later, a courier was carrying the sealed package as he got behind the wheel of a government car and headed off for the Navy Yard and NCIS.


	12. Chapter 12

July 12, 2005

Office of the Secretary of the Navy – Washington, DC

1355 Greenwich/ 0855 Eastern

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting patiently in SECNAV's outer office and had been for about five minutes. After spending most of last night getting briefed by Director Morrow and then reading the file sent over by the CIA, he was ready for his part in what would happen today. Looking around the room, he could see his target sitting at her desk, typing away at her computer and completely oblivious to how much her world was about to change.

The door to the hall opened and Kershaw stepped through it. He too recognized Miss Azzam, but his face certainly didn't show it. Rather, he went to her desk and told her that he had an appointment to see the Secretary. Pressing a button, she announced that Director Kershaw was here and was told to show him in. Kershaw nodded to Gibbs, who stood and followed him into the office.

"Director Kershaw, good to see you again," Sheffield said as he rose from behind his desk and came to greet his visitors.

"Mister Secretary, this is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Kershaw said, introducing the other man.

"Mister Secretary," Gibbs said.

"I've heard some good things about you, Special Agent."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Now, why don't you tell me exactly what has brought you here today," Sheffield said as he led them to a small seating area.

"Did General Creswell brief you on the Rabb situation, Mister Secretary?" Kershaw asked, as he opened his briefcase and removed a folder.

"Yes, he did. Very worrisome, indeed. I take it you have more information?"

"In a way, yes. One of my staff wondered how Al Qaeda knew where Rabb would be. I mean, he was on leave at the time of the first attack and visiting his grandmother in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly a visible target. And then the second attack, one at his home. How did they know where he lived? We checked and his address is not public record."

"So, you think someone told them," Sheffield said.

"We considered the possibility and quietly investigated, because of the threat to national-security that a mole with access to private information about high ranking officers could pose. We found who were we looking for and are ready to detain that person. That is the reason that Special Agent Gibbs is here. He'll do the arrest and then we'll quietly take her to somewhere private and have a talk about her options," Kershaw said.

"Her?"

"Mister Secretary, the mole is your assistant, Miss Azzam. She accessed Captain Rabb's files repeatedly over the past year, including seven times since the beginning of this month. She's a Muslim, born in Kuwait and still has ties there, and she has some interesting internet sites that she visits."

Kershaw handed Sheffield the pages he'd seen yesterday.

"Note the dates of those posts. One was two days before the attack in London, the other was the day before the attack here. The same day as that second post, Miss Azzam accessed the FAA's database and got information on Captain Rabb's private aircraft, including where it was currently located," Kershaw said.

"Oh, God!" Sheffield was stunned, to say the least. He could see the damage that could result if it got out that someone from his office was linked to the London bombings. Yet, he also knew what he had to do. "Special Agent Gibbs, do whatever you have to do to get to the bottom of this."

"Of course, Mister Secretary," Gibbs said.

With that, the two men rose and left the inner office. In the outer office, they were relieved to find Amal Azzam alone at her desk. Gibbs slipped his handcuffs from their spot on his belt and spoke.

"Amal Azzam, you are under arrest, charged with conspiracy to commit murder, accessory to attempted murder and giving aid to enemies of the United States. Please stand and place your hands behind your back."

Amal looked scared as she slowly rose. Gibbs swiftly cuffed the younger woman and led her out of the office. Proceeded by Director Kershaw, he took her to a private elevator and down to the parking garage reserved for VIPs. Gibbs was glad they were going this way, since it had taken the party past relatively few people. It took him a second to come to the realization that Kershaw had obviously thought about that before the meeting.

In the garage, a darkened van was waiting for them. Gibbs opened the side door and followed his prisoner inside the vehicle, while Kershaw took the front passenger seat. In moments, they were away from the Pentagon and moving swiftly away from Washington.

CIA Safe House – Virginia

1618 Greenwich/ 1118 Eastern

Kershaw sat in the observation room, watching as the interrogation of Miss Azzam went on. He was impressed with the way Special Agent Gibbs was handling things. The young woman hadn't taken too long to crack, really. It was the pictures that had done it, pictures of the two dead Marines. Gibbs had her now, Kershaw sensed.

"What I don't understand is why?" he heard Gibbs ask. "Why did you do it?"

"I was approached by a friend of the family several years ago. It was just after I started working for the Navy. He asked if I would help, just some non-classified information at first, like organization charts and what office reported to who. Stuff that was public but maybe hard to find. Then it became requests for who supplied our ships overseas, like in Italy or Japan. Did we do it ourselves or hire local companies. And then it moved on to more classified information and before I knew it…." Amal said, her head in her hands.

"You found yourself in too deep with no way out."

"At least it didn't seem like I had one. And at first, I thought the man who had contacted me was with Kuwaiti Intelligence, that I was helping my native land. It was only later that I found out he was really with Al Qaeda.

"Why didn't you try to get out then?" Gibbs asked, knowing the answer.

"How could I? Confess that I had helped Al Qaeda but realized it was a mistake? Yes, I can see that working out wonderfully," Amal said with a bitter grin.

"How would you like to get out now?"

"Yeah, like that's a possibility!"

"It could be, Miss Azzam. Not guaranteeing anything, but anything is better than a possible death sentence, isn't it?" Gibbs asked.

"What's the catch?" Amal asked back.

"You help us find Sadik Fahd. We know that you report to him and we intend to use you to get to him."

"I've never spoken to Sadik. My contacts are either electronic, for urgent messages, or meeting with my contact, Hamza Sayd."

"That's fine, Miss. When are you next due to meet with Sayd?" Gibbs asked.

"On Friday night. We meet at a Lebanese restaurant in Arlington for dinner and talk. I usually bring a flash drive with any documents I might have for him, as well," Amal said.

"Alright. Over the next three days, we're going to keep you under wraps. Do you have any mutual friends who might comment if you drop out of sight for a couple of days?"

"No. Hamza lives in Baltimore, I believe, and come to Washington only on Fridays to see me."

"You're certain he's not local?" Gibbs asked, pressing.

"Yes. One night, I dropped him off at a hotel, the Hays-Adams. He told me he was staying there because he had to meet someone important on Saturday," Amal said.

"Good. I'll have them bring you something to eat and then we'll talk some more after lunch."

With that Gibbs got up and went to the door. Knocking twice, it opened from the outside and he left the room. A short few steps and he was in the adjoining observation room, standing next to Director Kershaw. They watched as the door to the interrogation room reopened and a young man brought in a tray of food and a bottle of water. Amal picked at the food for a few minutes before finally starting to eat.

"So, what do you think?" Kershaw asked, turning towards Gibbs.

"I think we have someone who got caught up in something that she didn't really understand and once she figured it out, she couldn't see a way out of it," Gibbs said.

"Can we trust her not to tip her contact off that she's been turned?"

"Don't know. Personally, I think so, but…."

"Yeah, 'but'. My people have gone through her computer and examined the previous message. There's no code words, no nothing. Just plain text that means one thing to the casual reader and something else to the informed one. Now, is there a plain word that looks innocent unless you know it means danger? Only she knows," Kershaw said.

"We've got two days to know ourselves, because otherwise, we can't risk her meeting with her handler," Gibbs said.

"Two days? Today's only Tuesday and she doesn't meet him until Friday."

"We're going to need a day to get her ready for that meeting, Director, unless you want her walking in there acting nervous and scared. Think that might tip her handler off that something is very wrong?"

Kershaw almost laughed at that, wondering where Special Agent Gibbs had learned clandestine craft. He would definitely have to do some looking. As of now, all he had to go on was Director Morrow's endorsement of the man. Still, he seemed to know what he was doing, so Kershaw would leave things alone for now.

Honolulu International Airport – Honolulu, Hawaii

0827 Hawaiian/ 1827 Greenwich

A group of six young men exited the overseas terminal of the airport, having easily cleared customs. After all, they were only carrying a small suitcase each, containing only some slacks, shirts and underwear, plus a swimsuit and toiletries. Their passports were genuine, if not in the names they had been born with. And while they were Middle Eastern, so were many tourists who came to the islands. As far as the customs officials had been concern, there was no reason to flag, much less detain, any of them individually. It was only when they were outside the controlled area that they formed their group.

Now outside, they saw the van that was waiting for them. The distinctive bumper sticker affixed to it, as well as the paint job, were hard to miss. Walking over, the leader of the group got into the front passenger seat, while the others climbed into the rear.

"Welcome to Hawaii, gentlemen," the driver said as he dropped the van into gear and pulled away. "Pleasant flight?"

"A very long one," said the leader, chosen because he spoke the best English. The others could get by, but their accents were dead giveaways. Not him, his was pure New York, making him seem a tourist, but an American one.

"I'll drop you off at the house I rented for you, so you can get some rest. There's plenty of food in the refrigerator and the television is connected to the satellite dish, so there's that too."

"What about the equipment and information?"

"Everything I have on both Colonel MacKenzie and Mister Anderson is waiting for you at the house. In the basement, you'll find two twelve-gauge shotguns, four Chinese copies of the AK-47 and six pistols, along with plenty of ammunition for them. Also, I got you fifty pounds of C-4," the driver said, smiling at the expressions he saw in the rear view mirror.

"That should do very nicely, Mister McGuire. Very nicely indeed," the leader said.

The rest of the trip to the safe house was made in silence, as McGuire paid careful attention to the traffic as he drove through Honolulu and on towards Waimanalo Beach. He pulled the car to the side of the road near a one story house, then handed a set of keys to the leader of the group. The six men got out of the van, with the others heading up to the house while the leader hung back.

"The garage has a car and a motorcycle inside, fully fueled and licensed. My number is on the cell phones I bought you, all prepaid and untraceable. If you need anything else, let me know."

"Our leader thanks you for everything you've done. We should be able to handle things from here, though."

McGuire nodded his head and dropped the van into gear. As he pulled away, he thought about his escape plans. McGuire wasn't his real name, rather the name of one of his false identities, all carefully crafted years ago. Maybe it was time to move on, before the Arabs turned the heat up. Perhaps Australia, it was winter down there. Definitely cooler, he thought with a smile.

The leader of the group went up to the house and unlocked the door. The inside was exactly what he had expected. Obviously, the house was a vacation rental, so new faces wouldn't draw much in the way of attention. Like McGuire had said, the kitchen was well stocked for their needs. Two of the men went into the basement and returned in moments with the pistols as well as magazines for them. Now, all of his men were armed.

One of the group started fixing a late breakfast for them all while the others gathered around the dining room table. The leader spread the material out, which included several maps with routes outlined in yellow. Also, they had a good idea of the schedule Mister Anderson adhered to, though not as much on Colonel MacKenzie since she'd been moved onto the base.

"We could try a car bomb," one of the men said.

"Maybe, as a last resort. Too chancy, though, since we can't predict which car he'll be driving on any given day," another said, looking at the list of vehicles. "One day it's a sports car, the next an SUV, then an old Volkswagen. We'd have to somehow plant bombs on all of them and we can't be certain that a device wouldn't be spotted by the Marine guards at the base. Or were you thinking of just killing him?"

"Sadik was plain in his orders. The woman is the primary target and the man is simply, how do the Americans say it, collateral damage. Our mission is to kill her," the leader said.

"But how? There's no way that we're getting on that base with weapons."

"Ah, but why do we need to get on the base, when we can have her come off the base. See, she and the man get together a couple of times a week. Yes, sometimes it is on the base, but see here and here. These times they went out."

"They also had Marine guards with them when they did," the first man said.

"What of it? So we have to kill four instead of two, what difference does it make. They are the enemy," the leader said, looking at the other man.

"I'm not say anything like that, just that it makes things more difficult. Especially if we're reacting to their decisions."

"Or it could make things much simpler? We wait for them to go out, enjoy themselves and then we strike on their way back. We have the element of surprise, we can pick our moment."

The leader looked at the rest of the men as he said this and could see their heads nodding. Yes, they had all pledged their lives in their cause, but none of them were eager to die unless that death had meaning. Now, they had the beginnings of a plan, one that might not mean their deaths but hopeful would mean the death of Colonel Sarah MacKenzie.

July 13, 2005/ July 12, 2005

Compound – near Peshawar, Pakistan

0152 Local/ 2052 Greenwich

Sadik Fahd sat before his computer and reflected on the latest piece he'd moved on his mental chessboard. His source in the United States Navy had been singularly silent since the attack and her report of Colonel MacKenzie's move onto the base. Nothing new about Captain Rabb and his family, no report of any reaction from anyone about his virtual declaration of war against the two Americans, just nothing. So now, with this move, he'd decided to force a reaction. Whatever the outcome, Sadik was quite certain he would get one.

He'd already received a coded confirmation from the cell leader in Hawaii that they had safely arrived and that the local source had provided everything they would need. Now, he was scanning the various message boards that his source used to communicate back to Al Qaeda, hoping for a new message. He still had a few people in Europe, patiently waiting for their moment. These he could call together if need be and have them make a further attempt at Captain Rabb. The problem was, he had no idea where the man was, which is why he was waiting on his source.

Finding no new messages since the last time he'd checked, he turned towards a map spread out on the table behind him and bent over it. This was his next attack, laid out in all its glory. It was for an attack on several bases in Afghanistan, designed to show the world that Al Qaeda was still a force to be reckoned with. The fighters would strike quickly, all across the map, and then disappear just as swiftly.

A ping from the computer behind distracted his attention from the map and his thoughts. Turning back around, he clicked on the mail icon and opened the newest item. It was from his cutout, forwarding a message from bin Aziz. The man wanted to know if he should send the final payment to the private investigator they had used in Hawaii. With the men there and ready to act, a part of him considered withholding the money. But the more pragmatic part considered the downside of such a move, with the man selling them out and his fighters being stopped before they could carry out their mission. No, much better to just make the payment and trust that there was some honor amongst them.

Sending the response, he thought a little while on bin Aziz. The man was useful, no doubt, but a certain something was bothering Sadik. He couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly it was, just a whispering at the back of his mind that perhaps his old friend had outlived his usefulness. The Americans certainly suspected bin Aziz of being connected with Al Qaeda, how long would it be before they did something about that. Oh, the fact that bin Aziz was a Saudi and a very well connected one at that would shield him to an extent, but then what?

Oh, he was probably just being paranoid, Sadik thought as he stretched before turning away from the computer and making his way to bed. He would sleep for a while and let his mind settle, then come back to this and think some more.

Guest Quarters – RAF West Ruislip, England

0553 Greenwich

Harm slipped out of the bedroom, dressed to go for a run. It was something he wasn't doing as much of and he was starting to notice a little weight gain. So, now, it was time to get back to it. He started off by slowly stretching before setting off at a jog, slowly building his speed up until he reached a comfortable speed. He had a basic idea of the route he would take and how much distance it would cover, but he also was new to the base and didn't know the ebb and flow of the instillation.

It was an hour later that a sweaty, but satisfied Harm returned home. Here, he found Beth dressed and at work in the kitchen, so he made for the bedroom. Undressing, he went to the shower and got under a warm stream of water. Quickly, he shaved and washed, blessing those times aboard ship where he'd learned to take fast showers. Rinsing off, he toweled himself dry and checked his reflection in the mirror, frowning a little at the new gray hairs that were appearing.

Back in the bedroom, he quickly dressed in his summer whites before joining Beth in the kitchen. Here, he found two bowls of oatmeal with some sliced apple to go with it and two large mugs of coffee. Little Jack was happily sitting in his highchair sucking on a bottle his mother held for him.

"So, you'll start contacting agencies today?" Beth asked once he had sat down.

"Yes. We've only got about three weeks before you leave, then a month before Jack and I go to Naples. And I definitely want your input and approval of the nanny," Harm replied.

"I'm still not exactly thrilled about the idea, even if it is probably necessary."

"I'm not either, but we sometimes struggle and there's two of us. How do you think I'll do on my own? Besides, I think a nanny is better than just leaving him in daycare all day."

"What about Mattie? She'll be back in a month or so and she can help you," Beth told him.

"She'll be back, but then it will be time for her to start school again and I know we agree that her education is important, especially if she wants to get into the Naval Academy," Harm responded.

Beth nodded in agreement. They couldn't expect Mattie to push her own needs and desires aside just to look after Jack. It wasn't fair to the teenager, nor would it be fair to them if Mattie grew resentful of the duty. Not that either of them thought that she would, knowing how much she loved Jack, but still.

By this point, Jack had finished his bottle and was ready to be burped. Beth swiftly accomplished this before turning back to her breakfast and coffee. Harm, having finished his meal, took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them off before putting them in the dishwasher for later cleaning. Beth wasn't far behind him and once the kitchen was back in order, they gathered up their son and headed for the door. Harm's car was waiting, as were the two Marines on duty that morning. With a pleasant greeting, the family got in the back of the car and were off towards London and the start of another day.

Harm settled back in his seat and closed his eyes, reflecting on Beth's news from the previous day. He was beyond thrilled for his wife, knowing how much flying meant to her because it meant almost as much to him. So, the fact that she was going to an operational squadron as XO was wonderful. And if she could get an EWO slot after that short tour, then she would be well on her way to possibly getting a squadron command of her own in a couple of years.

It was with something of a start that Harm was jolted out of his reflections by the sound of the door opening. Snapping back to the present, he was surprised to find they were already at work. So, he climbed out of the backseat of the car and straightened his uniform. Then, he gave Beth and Jack a quick kiss before turning for the entrance to NAVFOREUR, while Beth carried Jack over to the Embassy for the start of her day.

The corporal on guard duty spotted her approaching and snapped to attention.

"Good morning, Ma'am," she said.

"Good morning, Corporal. Nice weather today," Beth said as she returned the salute and went past as the Corporal agreed with her. Then it was time to greet the next arrival, who ignored her as he walked past. Damned civilians, she thought while careful to keep her expression neutral.

Beth took dropped Jack off at the daycare center before heading up to her office. She was barely through the door before her superior, Colonel Allenby, stopped in. The office was a joint services operation, currently headed by an Air Force officer. Allenby was a former F-16 pilot, now serving a joint tour as part of his quest for General's stars.

"New orders for you, Rabb," he said as he handed a packet over to her. "Your replacement won't be arriving until September, so just wrap up what you can and hand over to me anything that you can't."

"Understood, Sir," Beth replied.

"You've done a good job here and I've noted that in my reports. Best of luck out there."

"Thank you, Sir."

Once Allenby left, Beth opened the packet and read through the orders. They were everything that she and Dee Dee had discussed. It promised to be an interesting duty, being a squadron she'd never served with before on a carrier she'd never served on before.

Grace Aviation – Blacksburg, Virginia

0521 Eastern/ 1021 Greenwich

Tom Boone sat in the office going over the day's flying schedule. The morning was going to be packed, with every plane they had here currently flying. In addition to that, the Gulfstream was scheduled to leave Dulles around 8 for a trip to Miami and wouldn't be back until Friday. Boone shook his head at that, but then if the client was willing to pay the extra to have the plane on standby, who was he to argue. The only bad part of it was there were three customers who he'd had to turn down because of the plane being gone.

This thought caused Boone to reach over to the file cabinet next to his desk and pull out a folder. They were still waiting on Harm and Mattie to make a decision on whether to buy the other G-III Beth O'Neil had found and he was getting worried that by the time they made a decision, it would be too late. He didn't want to do it but maybe another little push was needed, he thought as he picked up the phone and dialed.

"Force Judge Advocate's office, Petty Officer Simpkins speaking, Sir," came a quick answer.

"May I please speak with Captain Rabb?" Boone asked.

"May I tell him who is calling?"

"Thomas Boone."

"One moment please," Simpkins said before putting the call on hold and then keying the intercom.

"Yes, Petty Officer," Harm said.

"A call on 38 for you, Sir. A Thomas Boone."

"Thank you, Petty Officer."

Picking up the phone, Harm swiveled his chair around to face away from the desk.

"Good morning, Admiral. How are you?" Harm asked.

"Busy, which is part of the reason I'm calling," Boone replied. "Have you thought any more about that other G-III? Because I've had to turn down three jobs for this week due to our plane being scheduled for a three day junket to south Florida. Guess the guy wants to show he'd a big shot by having the plane waiting for him or something."

"I'll be honest, no I haven't really thought about it since we left the States. A lot has been happening and it slipped my mind. I will say Beth has 'asked' me not to put any more of our money into the company, but I'm also not really thrilled about the idea of taking loans out either."

"Well, I hate to push but if we don't decide quickly, I'm concerned that we'll lose the opportunity to get this plane. The demand is there, what we lack is the ability to meet the demand."

"Alright, talk to the bank and the broker. See if we can get a loan to buy the plane. If we can, then do it. If not, then get back to me and we'll talk some more," Harm said, making a decision. He was trusting Boone to know what the company needed to grow.

"Consider it done, Harm. I'll let you get back to work, while I do the same," Boone said before hanging up the phone.

With that accomplished, Boone next turned to the ledger for the company. He gathered up all the recent receipts and started entering the figures into the book, marking each one off as he did so. Next, he took the company checkbook and wrote out the various payments that needed to be made, noting each check number in the ledger as well. The last thing was recording all the payments that had come in and writing up a deposit slip for the few checks. The cash he would keep on hand to handle various little things, though it was also noted in the ledger.

When he had all of that done, he began balancing the book. Only this would let him know how much money the company had on hand. The bank would definitely want to know that when Boone approached them about a loan for the new plane. The sound of a car door closing broke his attention and as he looked out the window, he could see O'Neil and Mattie walking towards the hanger where Sarah was housed. He watched silently as the two of them pushed the plane out of the hanger onto the tarmac and began the pre-flight of the plane.

As he watched, a part of him silently ached. He longed to be out there doing just that, getting a plane ready to take to the sky. Yet, the feel of his hand gently shaking at his side was all the reminder he needed that those days were gone now. Boone wasn't sure how much longer he'd want to keep working here, being surrounded by planes and never getting in the air himself. This was worse than when he'd been an Admiral, because at least then he had plenty of other things to think about. Now, with the business almost running itself, he had too much time to think.

Turning from the window, he went to the coffee machine and filled a large mug. This he carried over to the desk and settled in. In a couple of moments, he was rewarded by Mattie sticking her head in the office while O'Neil went to the pilot's phone in the hanger to check on the weather.

"Good morning, Tom," Mattie said.

"Morning to you too, Mattie," Boone responded.

"Getting an early start?"

"Partly, but I also wanted to be in early to call your father."

"About the G-III you and Beth like?" Mattie asked, guessing.

"Yeah. We need to move on that, but he never got back to me about how we're going to pay for it. So, I called him at the office today," Boone told her.

"And what did he say?"

"That I should talk to the bank about financing and let him know how that goes."

"Well, that's good. I know Mom didn't want him dipping anymore into their money for the company, so I guess it's time to start doing a little borrowing and help grow the company some more," Mattie said as she took a seat next to Boone. "How are the numbers?"

"To be safe, we'll need to borrow about four million. That way, we'll still have some cash reserves after we buy the additional plane," Boone told her.

"If I remember correctly, the company made over three million last year. So, if we can beat that with having the extra plane, we should be able to pay it off in a couple of years."

"Or, we could hold the profits and try looking for a third jet in a year or two."

Mattie and Boone shared a slight smile at that. Well over half of the profits last year had come from the charter business and he easily expected to match that performance with the second G-III. In his mind, having a little debit was well worth it so that they could grow the company. Mattie was happy to see the company her mother had started was in good hands and doing very well. Yet, she was also a little conflicted. As the company got bigger and bigger, the more of a lure it was for her to take over when she turned 18 rather than go to college or the Academy. She already knew almost everything she needed to know to run the company and she was learning to fly.

Beth O'Neil came in then, interrupting the moment to let Mattie know they were good to go. The plan for today was for them to work on take-offs and landings, so they wanted to hurry and get going before the business of the day started to pick up. Once they had done some of that, they would refuel the plane and then take off on some cross country flying with Mattie at the controls. The duo bid farewell to Boone and headed out to the plane, while he turned his attention back to his work.

Force Judge Advocate's Office – London, England

1348 Greenwich

Harm was settled behind his desk, plowing his way through another stack of paperwork. These were the last two weeks case files and reports, meant for him to review and sign off on before they were consigned to the archives. He was a little behind, what with the bombing and other more urgent reports demanding his attention. Today, though, his calendar was free and he was making steady progress.

A knock at the door brought Harm's head up from the paper he was currently reading. Taking a moment to mark his place, he closed the folder and sat up.

"Enter," Harm called.

Lieutenant Handley marched into the office, carrying a slim folder with her. As she approached the desk, Harm took a moment to appraise her. A short woman, with brown eyes and jet black hair, he knew she was almost thirty from his remembrances of her in processing three weeks ago. Yet, to look at her, it would have been natural to think she was barely over twenty. Maybe it was the innocence in her eyes or the way her face was devoid of any lines, either way she definitely looked to him like a kid wearing their older sibling's uniform rather than an officer in her own right.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir. Here's my report on the case down in Portsmouth," Handley said as she handed over the folder.

"That could have been left with Petty Officer Simpkins, Lieutenant. Or is there something here that I need to know about?"

"Sir, the Captain of the Normandy wants Boatswain's Mate Two Douglass charged under Articles 109, 111 and 116. He feels that Douglass' escapades were a breach of the peace and that the Navy has no place for an alcoholic. I talked to Douglass and he claims that the Captain has had it in for him since the start of the cruise and was just looking for an excuse. Doesn't deny that he had been drinking but says he wasn't drunk. The police didn't administer a field sobriety test, but went based on the heavy smell of alcohol. Douglass says that one of his shipmates spilled a beer on him and he was driving back to the boat to change clothes."

"Did you talk to the shipmate who supposed spilled his drink of the Boatswain's Mate?" Harm asked.

"Yes, Sir. He was able to confirm that he had spilled a drink of Douglass, said he'd apologized to the man and then went and got them another round. When he returned, Douglass was gone, he couldn't say where," Handley said.

"Well, without corroboration, the Article 111 charge won't stand. But I assume you told the Captain of the Normandy that?"

"Yes, Sir. His response was that it was my job to find the evidence, but he wanted that drunk off his boat."

"Now, what about the Article 109 charge? What property did he damage or destroy during his ride?" Harm asked.

"When the police blocked his path, he bumped one of the cars as he was stopping. I talked to the authorities and the damage is negligible, a little paint and you'd never even notice. The officer actually laughed when I told him Douglass was going to face charges for the damage," Handley said.

"So, realistically, all that he should be charged with is the Article 116 charge. And I am assuming that you explained this to the Captain as well?"

"Yes, Sir. At which point he reminded me that I am a JG and he is a Captain and that if I wasn't careful, he would prefer charges against me as well," Handley said.

"I see. Thank you, Lieutenant. Leave the file with me and I'll get back to you later," Harm said, the very image of calm and composed. Inside, however, was an entirely different matter. He waited until she had left the office and the door was closed before he picked up the telephone, then stopped himself. Harm slowly counted to twenty before picking up the phone again and requesting to be connected with the Normandy.

"Communications Center, Ensign Danforth speaking, Sir," came an earnest young voice.

"This is Captain Rabb at NAVFOREUR, can you please connect me with the Ship's Captain?" Harm asked.

"One moment, Sir."

The line switched off and he heard another party pick up.

"Captain Collins speaking," came a gruff voice that matched Harm's mental picture of the man.

"Captain, my name is Captain Rabb. I'm the FJA for NAVFOREUR."

"So you're the one responsible for that young idiot I was saddled with who kept trying to tell me why I can't have BM2 Douglass punished for his offenses."

"If you are referring to Lieutenant Handley, yes, I am her superior officer. She actually just finished briefing me on her findings and I have to say that I agree with her conclusions," Harm said.

"Then you're as dumb as she is! He was clearly drunk, he was clearly disorderly and he clearly damaged property not his own! Now what part of any of that is so hard to understand, damn it?" Collins roared, loud enough that Harm had to pull the phone away from his ear.

"It's not a matter of understanding, Captain. It's a matter of proving. Now, you can present the charges, as you are the convening authority. However, I could get any kid fresh from NJS and have them win defending BM2 Douglass because the evidence doesn't exist to support those charges."

"Isn't it up to you and your staff to find the evidence?"

"It is. The problem is, the evidence does not exist. The local authorities failed to administer a field sobriety test and went by the smell of alcohol on Douglass. By the time he was finally given a test at their station, he was below the legal limit. That and the fact that we have a witness to the fact that a drink was spilled on Douglass virtually kills the Article 111 charge. As for the Article 109 charge, the amount of damage was insignificant according to the local authorities and best handled by Douglass paying for the damages," Harm told him.

"I want that damned drunk off my boat, not thinking he got one over on us," Collins said.

"Captain, it is my professional advice that you charge him under Article 116 and leave it at that. I will forward a copy of that recommendation in writing, as well, along with a copy to Admiral Kieso."

Harm winced as he heard the sound of the phone being slammed down. He then turned to his computer and hurriedly typed out his personal recommendations for the case. He then sent a copy to the Captain of the Normandy, as well as printing a copy for himself. This, along with the case file, he took with him and left the office. Walking across the room, he went to the small office occupied by Lieutenant Handley and knocked. Handley looked up before shooting to her feet.

"Here's that case file back, along with a copy of the recommendations I sent to the Normandy's Captain," Harm told her. "It's in his hands now."

"Yes, Sir," Handley said.

Harm paused for a moment, but there wasn't really anything to add to that. So, he left her office and went back to his, where more paperwork awaited his attention.


	13. Chapter 13

Guest Quarters – RAF West Ruislip

1722 Greenwich

Harm, Beth and Jack sat in the living room talking with the second applicant for the nanny position. The first one had been a bit of a disaster, in that she was a very severe older woman who had been appalled to discover why the family needed a nanny in the first place. In her opinion, a nanny was there to help the mother, not replace her, and if Beth was a real mother, she would put her career ambitions aside for the good of the child. Harm had gravely escorted the woman out of the house, barely saying good bye before slamming the door on her.

The lady in front of them now couldn't be more the opposite. She looked to be about twenty, though her paperwork said she was actually twenty eight. Most of her attention had been focused on Jack, as she interacted with the little boy while answering questions from the two parents. Her strawberry blonde hair was flowing over her shoulders, while her green eyes danced with laughter as she spoke.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Rabb. I adore children, which comes from being part of a big family. I'm the oldest of seven children and I've helped my mother take care of the younger ones, even while I was attending University," the woman said.

"And what did you take at University?" Harm asked, knowing the answer from the papers but wanting to listen to her answer the question.

"I am trained to be an early childhood teacher, pre-school to third grade. When I graduated, there were very few jobs in the field, so I looked for other opportunities."

"And how many families have you been a nanny for?" Beth asked.

"You'll be my third. The first family, I was with for a year, before they moved back to Australia and my duties were taken over by the child's grandmother. Then, I was with the second family for four years, until their daughter was in school and the amount of time they needed me for was negligible. So, they found a sitter for a couple of hours in the afternoon, between when the child left school and the parents came home," the woman said.

"And the agency explained what we are looking for?"

"Yes, Mrs. Rabb. You're moving to Italy and need someone to take care of your son. I have no problems with living in Italy and I'm certain that your son and I will get along great."

Jack was watching the young woman and gave her a smile when she smiled at him.

"All of that is true. However, part of the reason is that I'm in the Navy as well as my husband. Next month, I leave for at least six months when I'm deployed," Beth said.

"Oh, what do you do in the Navy?" the young woman asked.

"I'm a Radar Intercept Officer flying F-14 fighters off carriers."

"Wow, that's amazing. Well, don't you worry about a thing while you're out there. I'll be here to take care of your son and I'll try to keep your husband in line too."

The two women shared a laugh at that, more so at the look that crossed Harm's face. He wasn't at all certain that in some way he wouldn't regret putting these two together. Still, he could see that she was pleasant and Jack liked her, which would be important. So, he thought that she would likely be the one that they would end up hiring. They chatted for a little while longer, then it was time for her to go and for them to interview the next potential nanny.

Anderson Estate – near Honolulu, Hawaii

0806 Hawaiian/ 1806 Greenwich

Andy Anderson stood out on the lawn leading down from the house to the large garage. He could see Manny, the gardener, cutting the grass and waved to him as he walked. He was in a good mood today, having plans to meet Sarah for an early dinner here. Afterwards, they'd settle into the home theater and watch a movie. He was in a comedy mood and he'd selected a couple of good ones for her to choose from.

Now, he was going to spend some time washing the various cars in his collection. It wouldn't take very long, given that he was just trying to keep them clean rather than going for a show-quality finish. Still, it gave him something to do for an hour or so, then he'd head for the beach and spend the rest of the morning swimming.

Space in the garage was at something of a premium, with all the cars it contained. Andy wondered, not for the first time, if he shouldn't have another garage built. It wasn't like he didn't have the room or the money, just that he would think about it and usually forget about it after a couple of days. Now, he was inside the garage and went to a shelf near the door, where he retrieved his supplies. He also turned on the water to the garage, along with the lights and the stereo.

A little over two hours later and he was done, with a few minutes more spent putting the supplies away and rinsing off the floor of the garage. Then, Andy got behind the wheel of his Chevy Suburban and drove off to the beach. He didn't notice as he made his way into town that he had someone following him. Why would he? It wasn't like he was famous or something and, anyways, he was on an island headed towards the main city there. It was only natural that someone else might be traveling the same road towards the same destination.

The motorcycle continued on as Andy parked near the beach, the rider fairly certain as to where the man was going. The man continued another couple of blocks, then pulled over and parked. He took out his cell phone and called his leader, giving the latest information. Going by what information they already had, the leader instructed the man to find a place between the beach and the target's home where he could pick him up again. He also suggested that the rider get something to eat as a means of killing time.

The one thing that the information supplied by McGuire hadn't included was the security of the Anderson estate. Was there an alarm, maybe guards or dogs? What was the response time for police in the area? The germ of an idea was forming in the leader's mind, but there were several unknowns. Going into the living room, he picked up the keys to the car and held them for a moment.

"Rashid, come with me," he called, tossing the man the keys while grabbing the map that showed where the Anderson estate was.

Going out to the garage, they got into the car and drove off. The leader had a general clock running in his head, giving him a basic idea of how much time they had for what he had in mind. Rashid took pains to stay within the posted limit, even as cars passed him by. Given that both men were armed, it was a good precaution, as they did not want to get stopped by the police.

Upon reaching the area around the estate, the leader had Rashid pull the car over and let him out. He proceeded the rest of the way on foot, crossing the road and cautiously approaching the stone wall. He then made his way to the gate, which was locked. The leader noted that the gate was on tracks and that there was a keypad and call box sitting out there. Moving past the gate, he continued on until he reached the end of the wall. Looking back, he could still see the driveway, so he turned the corner and went until he was out of sight from the road. Then, he grabbed the top of the wall and pulled himself upward, so he could look into the property. He also was waiting to see if there was any response.

The house was a good distance from the wall, with most of that being open lawn. He hung there for a couple of moments and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The next move was to go over the wall, yet also be ready to get back over at the first sign of trouble. When he did this, he was surprised that there was no reaction. How was it possible that someone with the wealth to afford this didn't have even the most basic security? Where he came from, such a house would have no less than a dozen armed men walking the grounds, the leader thought as he moved closer.

Now certain that there was no security, he returned to the wall and went back over. An evil grin came to his face as he got back to the car. This could be perfect, since most people are at their most relaxed when in the sanctuary of their own homes. The leader knew from his reading that on the occasions when his targets went out, they almost always ended up back here. He had at first dismissed it, but now he could see the beauty of it. Take out the Marines guarding Colonel MacKenzie and the couple would be at their mercy.

Grace Aviation Hanger – Blacksburg, Virginia

1648 Eastern/ 2148 Greenwich

Mattie walked slowly away from Sarah, making her way to the hanger and the restroom. Beth followed along behind her, watching the teen. The almost three hours they'd been aloft that afternoon was the longest stretch of time that she had been at the controls and it showed. But there were still a number of things that they needed to do before they could call it a day and Beth wanted to get to them. Yet, she was also feeling a need to relieve herself.

Once they were both done, they went back outside and did a post flight inspection of the plane along with one of the mechanics. A few minor things needed to be addressed before their next flight, but nothing major. Then they helped push the plane back into the hanger, before finding a seat outside where Mattie updated her log book and Beth signed off on it.

"So, what did we learn today?" Beth asked.

"That I suck as a navigator," Mattie said with a frown on her face.

"No. Trust me, it takes time and practice before you'll be good at navigating. A lot of civil pilots I know just rely on their GPS. Personally, I think that's a mistake, because if it goes out, you're in a world of trouble with no clue how to get out."

"Ok, then it's how I can't seem to figure out where the wind is."

"That would be part of it, yes. When we left this morning, I called and got the weather, remember. But this afternoon, I didn't and you didn't, so we didn't know where the wind was coming from," Beth told her. "See, I told you that you were going to be flying this afternoon, so who was responsible for getting the weather information."

"I was," Mattie said with an expression on her face that almost made Beth want to hug her.

"So, the next time I say that you're flying, what should you remember to do?"

"To check the weather before we go."

Beth patted Mattie on her shoulder as she spoke. "Relax, Mattie, no harm, no foul. You're going to make mistakes, that's part of learning. And I want you to make them, rather than me just saying 'Hey, don't forget to do this'. Because only by making the mistake and seeing how it affects things are you going to learn. Here endith the lesson."

"Did my not knowing the winds affect my navigating?" Mattie asked.

"Sure did. There was a crosswind of about 8 knots during the first leg, which is why we were to the south of Roanoke when it came time for the turn. Then, when we turned north, that crosswind became a headwind and we were later reaching the turn over Interstate 64 than we planned. And so on."

"OK, I get that. But how do I fix the problem?"

"On crosswinds, you adjust your heading to compensate for the wind. With headwinds and tailwinds, you can't really adjust anything. Those are more factors to keep in mind when calculating how much fuel you'll need to reach a certain point," Beth told her. "Or, you could trying flying higher or lower and see if that gets you out of the headwind. Just don't get too low, because if something goes wrong, you'll want that extra altitude to trade while you try to solve it."

"How low is too low?" Mattie asked.

"Depends on where you're flying. If you're over something like the forest, I'd want to be at least at 5,000 above ground level. Now, if you're flying over open spaces, like farm land, then you can get lower than that."

"Why is that?"

"Well, over flat land, it's easier to land. Just watch out for fences and gullies. Over woods, you need to find a clearing so that you don't simply crash," Beth said.

Mattie nodded at that, making sense of it all. As she did so, she realized that she still had a lot to learn about flying. Beth watched the teen and smiled. She could practically see the wheels turning as the girl processed the information. Mattie was coming along well, but it never hurt to remind the student that they still had a lot to learn.

Camp H. M. Smith – Halawa, Hawaii

1652 Hawaiian/ 0452 Greenwich

Sarah MacKenzie came out of her office and saw the two Marines waiting for her. Nodding, she started on her way out of the building, trailed by the two men. She had called them earlier to let them know about her plans for the evening, so that they could be ready to leave when she was. Slung over her left shoulder was a carry-on bag, which held a change of clothes. Once she got to Andy's, she'd take a few minutes in the guest room and change out of her uniform into shorts and a t-shirt.

Outside, the group went to the car that had been reserved for her use until such time as the threat to her ended. One of the Marines held the back passenger door open for her while the other got behind the wheel. Upon exiting the base, the car headed towards Honolulu on the H201 before merging onto the H1 and going through town. Then, it was off the highway and on up into the hills. Over an hour after leaving the base, they finally reached Andy's home. Sarah gave the driver the code for the gate and they entered the grounds, not noticing the man sitting on his motorcycle just down the way.

Pulling out the cell phone that he carried, Rashid called the number for his leader.

"They've arrived, Sir. The woman and two males. I could not tell if they were armed or not, but I believe that we should assume that they are."

"Very good, Rashid. We will be joining you in about 40 to 45 minutes. If they go to leave before we get there, call immediately," the leader told him.

"It will be as you say."

With that, the leader hung up and began gathering the men and supplies that they would take with them. He elected to bring a few pounds of explosives, not expecting to need them but mindful that this might be the only chance they would have. All of the men had their pistols as well as the rifles and shotguns. The leader thought the shotguns would be more useful in the close quarters he expected to find, but that wasn't reason enough to leave the AK-47s behind.

Up at the estate, Sarah got out of the car and was greeted by Andy. He also welcomed the two Marines inside. The two men opened the trunk of the car and removed a pair of M-4 carbines and three M-9 pistols. Andy shook his head slightly at the sight of the guns, though he recognized their necessity. After all, he had seen the same broadcast as the rest of the world and knew about the threat made against Sarah. Besides, he remembered something his Uncle David, who had been a Michigan State Trooper, used to say, that you never needed a gun until you didn't have one. David was also the man who had taught Andy to shoot, taking the boy on a number of great hunting trips in Northern Michigan and the Upper Peninsula. When David had passed away, he'd left Andy with a pair of Remington Model 870 shotguns and a Model 700 rifle, all of which were currently stored in Andy's front hall closet.

Going through the house, the group came to the veranda out back. Andy had the grill going for steaks, while potatoes were baking in the oven inside. A large table was near the grill, with some bottles of iced tea and sodas sitting near the end. Sarah nodded towards the bedroom and Andy smiled as she left.

"Help yourselves to something to drink," Andy told the two Marines.

"Thank you, Sir, but no thank you," the older one, a Staff Sergeant responded. He nodded to his partner and the pair of them dispersed to find watch points on the grounds.

Andy turned towards the grill and put the steaks on. Knowing that Sarah was going to have guards with her, he'd made sure to have enough to feed them as well, though it looked like he would instead have leftovers. As he did that, Sarah returned from changing and grabbed a bottle of soda. She settled into a chair and took a drink, looking out over the lawn behind the house.

"I never get tired of this view, Andy," Sarah told him.

"It is definitely something you won't find around Boston," Andy replied. The lawn sloped gently downward until it reached a level area, where the garage was. Then it continued down the hill before fading into the tree line in the distance.

"It must be hard to cut all of that."

"Not really. Manny had a riding mower, which makes it somewhat easier. Just takes time, is all."

"So, how was your day?" Sarah asked.

"Really good. Washed the cars, then I went to the beach and swam for a while. After that, I came back and got the bike out, went riding for a couple of hours. Then it was time to get all of this ready for us," Andy said, waving to the table and grill.

"And how much of it did Moira do?"

"She cleaned the potatoes and got them started in the oven. Then I told her to take off, I guess there's a new movie out that she is dying to see. So, she's going to do dinner and a movie in town with a friend and won't be back until late."

Moira's love of movies was well known to Sarah, who had often heard the woman talking about them and asking if she had seen one that Moira was interested in. Andy liked to joke that if she ever got tired of being a housekeeper, she could always find employment as a film critic. So, Sarah had no doubt that the next time she saw her, Moira would be gushing about whatever movie she'd seen.

Once the steaks were done, Andy put them on a serving platter and carried it to the table. He then went inside and retrieved the potatoes, along with butter and sour cream to go with them. Sarah and he helped themselves to what they wanted and enjoyed the quietude that came from being alone. It was just as they were finishing dinner that all of this was shattered, as the sound of a single shot rang out. This was followed by a flurry of shots, including the boom of a shotgun blast.

Andy's eyes widened at the noise, while Sarah's narrowed. She didn't know exactly what was going on, but she knew it wasn't good. Pulling her pistol, she checked to make sure a round was loaded as she got up from the table. Moving quickly, she headed through the house and towards the sounds of the shooting. Andy followed along behind her, deeply concerned as to what she was planning.

"Sarah, hold on for a minute," Andy said. "Those are rifles and shotguns, you can't go out there with just a pistol."  
"Andy, my Marines don't have shotguns with them. So, somebody is obviously shooting at them. Now, I'm not going to desert them when I'm able to try and help them," Sarah shot back.

"We need to even the odds a little, damn it."

Sarah turned to look at Andy, only to see him opening a closet door and pulling out two soft gun cases. Quickly unzipping the objects, he revealed two shotguns. Handing them to her, he reached back into the closet and brought out a pair of shooter's vests and two boxes of shotgun shells. After handing her one, he shrugged into the other and dumped the box of shells into the vest's pocket. Then, he reclaimed one of the guns and started loading it, watching as Sarah did the same.

All of this unfortunately took time, time that the Marines outside didn't have. The staff sergeant had seen his partner fall in the first twenty seconds. It had been his shot, taken at an armed intruder, which had started the fight. He'd managed to drop the man he'd shot, but that death had been swiftly avenged by the next two men over the wall. The staff sergeant had managed to drop both of them, but at the expense of exposing his position. Now, he was huddled behind a stone wall on the edge of the driveway while shots were fired at him.

The staff sergeant knew what they were doing, keeping his head down while someone got close enough to take him out. His only hope was that Colonel MacKenzie was using the time he bought her to get away. That was his mission, to protect her at all costs, and he was going to do it.

That thought was the staff sergeant's last, as he missed the sound of the bullet that killed him. Rashid waved his arm, signaling the leader that it was done. The leader, for his part, was in a rage. He'd lost three of his men and they hadn't even seen the woman yet. Now, it was just him, Rashid and Ahmed left. Signaling the two men to join him, they began moving on the house, hoping they would find their target there.

The sound of the shooting stopped, causing Sarah's heart to freeze. She listened, but didn't hear anything else. Now, she was certain that the Marines who were protecting her were either dead or dying. If they had been victorious, they would have called an all clear. Nothing was bad. Looking around the house, she thought quickly. The living room was too open, not enough cover. The hall back to the bedrooms, on the other hand, was a death trap because there was no way out. The kitchen too was out, given the gas lines and such.

The sound of footsteps on the front porch decided things for her, as she grabbed Andy's hand and pulled him into the hall. It was just in time, as a flurry of bullets ripped through the front door and tore up the living room. Sarah positioned Andy in the doorway to the master bedroom, then took up station in the doorway to the nearest guest bedroom. Seeing that Andy was in the standing position, she adopted a kneeling one, bringing herself under his line of fire.

Seeing the first man enter her line of sight, Sarah took aim and fired. Her shot hit the man in the upper body and flung him aside in a bloody heap. It also triggered an immediate response as a volley of shots peppered the hall. Behind this volley, the leader and Rashid advanced. A shot struck Sarah in her right arm and she screamed in pain.

Andy had been slightly ducking in his doorway, untrained for what was going on around him. Yet, the scream served to unleash something within the man, a primal rage the likes of which he'd only known with the death of his family four years before. This time, however, he was in a position to do something. So, he shouldered the shotgun and fired. And fired and fired again, working the pump as his uncle had taught him when they'd been hunting. It was only the clicking of the trigger on an empty chamber that finally snapped him out of it.

Looking down the hall, Andy turned and vomited. He'd fired five rounds down the hall, at a distance of less than 15 feet. What that had wrought was pure carnage. Both the leader and Rashid had been effectively cut in half by the blasts, their chests shredded. Andy fought his feelings and went to Sarah, who was clutching her arm and moaning in agony. Her arm was a mangled mess and blood was still flowing. Going past her to the guest bathroom, Andy grabbed some towels and came back. Sarah was able to instruct him on how to put a tourniquet on her arm, then he called 911.

Police were on the scene within minutes, an ambulance following close behind them. As much as Andy wanted to go with her, he needed to stay behind and talk with the responding officers about the evenings events. As well, another officer was riding with Sarah to get her statement as well. Into this mess came several other interested parties, namely NCIS, Colonel Saunders and Mister Bell from the CIA. Citing national security as well as three of those involved being Marines, NCIS took over the investigation. Once the unidentified men were fingerprinted and photographed, Bell left to run the information through the computers at Langley. He knew he also needed to inform his superiors about what had happened.

July 14, 2005

Director Kershaw's Home – near Great Falls, Virginia

0204 Eastern/ 0704 Greenwich

The buzzing of the phone on the bedside table pulled Harrison Kershaw for a sound sleep. Reaching over for the offending object, he also happened to glance at the clock and groan. Given the hour, whatever this was couldn't be good, he knew.

"Kershaw," he said.

"It's Bell, Sir," came a voice over the phone.

Kershaw had to think for several moments, trying to remember who Bell was and where he was. Then, it clicked and Kershaw rolled into a seated position on the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?"

"There was an attempt made on Colonel MacKenzie this evening, Sir. Six men who, judging by their appearance, I believe are Middle Eastern in origin. All six of the attackers are dead, but they managed to kill the two Marines guarding the Colonel and wounded her. She's currently being transported to Tripler for medical attention."

"How in the hell did this happen?" Kershaw asked, not really expecting any answer. It had happened because Sadik had decided to try it. He suspected that at least some of the information had come from Miss Azzam, something he would have to have Gibbs bring up when he talked with her again today. He also needed to talk with General Creswell as well. If Sadik was going to be targeting Rabb and MacKenzie, others in the JAG Corps could also find themselves in the line of fire and they needed to be warned.

For his part, Bell wisely kept his mouth shut. He viewed the entire thing as a personal failure. Not just because people he truly believed were terrorists had managed an attack on his watch, but also because there wasn't a single one of them alive for him to question. Dead men, after all, told very few tales and these were likely not to magically be exceptions to that.

"Bell, I need you to start digging. These men came from somewhere, find out how they arrived. I would suggest starting at least a day ago and check back as far as you have to. Also, see if you can find where they were staying. Talk with NCIS for assistance. If they give you any grief, have them call their Director and let them know that this is most likely linked to the attack in London."

"Understood, Director. I'll get with NCIS as soon as I hang up the telephone," Bell said.

"Good. Let me know as soon as you get something," Kershaw said before hanging up. He then immediately picked the phone back up and dialed a number, waiting for the person on the other end to answer.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Sir Alistair."

"What time is it there, Harrison?" Sir Alistair said, coming fully awake.

"A quarter past two in the morning," Kershaw said.

"Then I take it you're not calling with pleasant news."

"No, I'm not. There was an attempt made on Colonel Sarah MacKenzie by six men that my agent in Hawaii thinks are possible Middle Easterners."

"Ah, Sadik's message," Sir Alistair said. "We really must do something about this fellow, Harrison."

"I completely agree. And I may have a step in the right direction. We picked up his mole in the Department of the Navy, an assistant to SECNAV. We believe we've turned her and she's set to meet her control on Friday," Kershaw told him.

"That's very good. Now, have you figured out how to get our rabbit to run?"

"Possibly. We could have the mole report that Navy SEALs are getting ready for a top secret operation against a high level terror target. Add in that the Navy is requesting updated satellite photography of Peshawar, focusing on finding this target. Nothing specific to Sadik, perhaps, we're trying for subtle here."

"Yes, I quite agree. It would smell too much like a setup if your asset was to say Sadik specifically. Better that the target isn't mentioned, or better still, that she was dismissed before they discussed who the target was. As if they forgot that she was in the room and what she got was all she could overhear," Sir Alistair said.

"The sixty-four thousand dollar question is, will it work?" Harrison asked.

"I would say it will get some type of reaction. Will he run or will he hide and hope we are after someone else? My belief is that he'll run, seeking to hide elsewhere until our focus shifts to something or someone else."

"And will your government back us on this?"

"Oh, I would say so, Harrison. After all, we have strong reason to believe that Sadik is the man behind this recent attack. That if he is left out there, there is more than sufficient reason to believe that he'll try again. And that isn't even getting into the fact that your country is our closest ally in this fight, nor the special relationship that exists between our nations," Sir Alistair said. "Still, that is a question your Secretary of State and President will need to put to our Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister for them to answer, rather than relying on the word of someone who has no official role to play."

"Of course, Sir Alistair," Kershaw said with a smile in his voice, for as much as the old man might try to deny it, he was still very much connected. Kershaw hung up the phone, his mind quickly going over all that he would need to get accomplished in the next few hours. The first thing was relatively easy, setting up surveillance of Peshawar so that they could try to track Sadik's movements. Yes, Predator overflight of Pakistan was a little risky, but they would need the eyes for this to work. He also wanted to try and get a ground asset near the compound that they had tentatively marked as where Sadik was living.

His next step was to call the President's chief of staff and request a meeting with the President and the joint chiefs to go over the new developments. There were currently two Carrier Battle Groups in the Indian Ocean, with a third centered on the Patrick Henry near the Persian Gulf and all three would have to be briefed to be ready to intercept an aircraft carrying Sadik. Kershaw would leave the details of that to the military, since they would have a better idea of what was possible.


End file.
